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JEALOUSY;  or,  TEVERINO. 

A  NOTEL. 
BY     GEORGE  SAND. 


"  Jealousy ;  or,  Teverino,  one  of  tbe  best  of  George  Saud's  fictions,  T.  B.  Peter 
son  &  Brothers,  of  Philadelphia,  have  brought  out  in  a  faithful  and  spirited 
translation,  with  a  memoir  of  the  author  by  Oliver  S.  Leland.  There  is  great 
ideality  and  high  imagination  in  this  most  fascinating  romance,  the  actua".  he- 
roine of  which  is  a  country  girl,  beautiful  as  an  angel  aud  pure  as  a  pearl,  pos- 
sessing such  a  wondrous  power  over  the  birds  of  creation  as  we  may  imagine 
was  Eve's  before  the  fall.  The  character  is  most  delicately  sketched.  Teverino 
himself,  drawu  with  a  bolder  pencil,  is  the  type  of  a  class  of  clever  people  who 
'can  do  anything,' but  are  deficient  in  the  perseverance  which  alone  executes 
tbe  completion  of  success.  A  brace  of  lovers,  Leonce  and  Sabina,  are  cleverly 
designed,  and  the  stout  Cure  we  ha  ve  met  scores  of  times.  It  is  a  delightful 
book,  and  one  of  George  Saud's  happiest  productions."  Daily  Times. 

"  George  Sand  is  probably  the  most  influential  writer  of  our  day.  Her  genius 
has  been  felt  as  a  power  in  every  country  of  tbe  world  where  people  read  any 
manner  of  books.  She  is,  beyond  comparison,  the  greatest  living  novelist  of 
France,  and  has  won  this  position  by  tbe  most  legitimate  application  of  the  gifts 
of  an  artist.  With  all  her  marvellous  fecundity,  she  has  hardly  ever  given  to 
the  world  any  work  which  does  not  seem  at  least  to  have  been  the  subject  of 
the  most  elaborate  and  patient  care.  Tbe  prose  of  George  Sand  stands  oat  con- 
spicuous for  its  wonderful  expressiveness  and  force,  its  almost  perfect  beauty. 
She  is,  after  Rosseau.  the  one  only  great  French  author  who  has  looked  directly 
and  lovingly  into  the  face  of  nature,  and  learned  the  secrets  which  skies  and 
waters,  fields  and  lanes,  can  teach  to  the  heart  that  loves  them.  Gifts  such  as 
these  have  won  her  the  almost  unrivalled  place  which  she  holds  in  living  lite- 
rature. There  is  hardly  a  woman's  heart  anywhere  in  tbe  civilized  world  which 
has  not  felt  the  vibration  of  George  Sand's  thrilling  voice." 

Justin  McCarthy.    "  Galaxy." 

"  Her  style  is  noble,  and  beautifully  rich  and  pure.  She  has  an  exuberant 
imagination,  and  with  it  a  very  chaste  style  of  expression.  She  never  scarcely 
indulges  in  declamation,  and  yet  her  sentences  are  exquisitely  melodious  and 
full.  She  leaves  you  at  the  end  of  one  of  her  brief,  rich,  melancholy  sentences, 
with  plenty  of  food  for  future  cogitalion.  I  can't  express  to  you  the  charm  of 
them  ;  they  seem  to  me  like  the  sound  of  country  bells  falling  sweetly  and  sadly 
upon  the  ear."  Thackeray. 

"She  has  naturalness,  taste,  a  strong  love  of  truth,  enthusiasm,  and  all  these 
qualities  are  linked  together  by  the  most  severe,  as  also  the  most  perfect,  har- 
mony. The  genius  of  Madame  George  Sand  has  an  amplitude  exquisitely  beau- 
tiful. Whatever  she  feels  or  thinks  breathes  grace,  and  makes  you  dream  of 
immense  deeps.  Her  style  is  a  revelation  of  pure  and  melodious  form."  Heine. 

"No  man  could  have  written  her  books,  for  no  man  could  have  had  her  ex- 
perience, even  with  a  genius  equal  to  her  own.  Both  philosopher  and  critic 
must  perceive  that  these  writings  of  hers  are  original,  are  genuine,  are  tran- 
scripts of  experience,  aud  as  such  fulfil  the  primary  condition  of  all  literature." 

George  H.  Lewes. 

"George  Sand  has  been,  beyond  any  possible  comparison,  tbe  most  influential 
woman-writer — perhaps  the  most  influential  writer  whatever — of  our  day. 
Carhle's  influence  can  hardly  be  said  to  pass  outside  the  limits  of  tbe  English 
tongue;  but  George  Sand's  power  has  stamped  itself  deeply  into  the  mind, 
the  morals,  the  manners,  the  very  legislation  of  every  civilized  country  in  the 
world."  Galaxy. 

"In  France,  of  all  the  novel  writers  of  the  last  twenty  years,  the  most  instruc- 
tive, the  most  genuine,  the  most  original  is  George  Sand.  Her  best  works  remain 
and  will  long  remain,  among  the  most  characteristic  and  the  most  splendid 
monument  of  that  outpouring  of  French  literature,  the  period  of  which  happened 
to  be  exactly  coterminous  with  the  duration  of  constitutional  government  in 
France."  •  Saturday  Review. 

"  As  an  example  of  genius,  harmonious  and  unrestrained.  I  do  not  know  her 
peer  among  contemporary  names.  One  of  the  most  beautiful  facts  about  her 
works  is  the  dominance  of  the  benevolent  spirit.  You  recognize  the  maternal 
element  as  strongest.  She  yearns  to  do  good,  to  influence,  to  ennoble,  to  stimu- 
late; and  by  common  consent,  she  is  the  noblest  mind  that,  among  European 
writers,  has  used  the  novel  as  a  means  of  acting  on  tbe  great  reading  public." 

Eugene  Benson.   "  Galaxy." 


JEALOUSY;  0B,  MERINO. 


A  NOVEL. 


BY  GEORGE  SAO. 


AUTHOR    OF   "  CONSUELO,"   "  THE    COUNTESS   OF  RUDOLSTADT," 
"INDIANA,"  M  FANCHON,  THE  CRIGKET,"   "  THE  CORSAIR," 
"FIRST   AND    TRUE   LOVE,"   ETC.,  ETC. 


"  Jealousy  ;  or,  Teverino,  one  of  the  bent  of  George  Sand's  fictions,  T.  B.  Peter- 
son &  Brothers,  of  Philadelphia,  have  brought  out  in  a  faithful  and  spirited 
translation,  wiih  a  memoir  of  the  author  by  Oliver  S.  Leland.  There  is  great 
ideality  and  high  imagination  in  this  most  fascinating  romance,  the  actual  he- 
roine of  which  is  a  country  girl,  beautiful  as  an  angel  and  pure  as  a  pearl,  pos- 
sessing such  a  wondrous  power  over  the  birds  of  creation  as  we  may  imagine 
whs  Eve's  before  the  fall.  The  character  is  most  delicately  sketched.  Teverino 
himself,  drawn  with  a  bolder  pencil,  is  the  type  of  a  class  of  clever  people  who 
'can  do  anything,'  but  are  deficient  in  the  perspverance  which  alone  executes 
the  completion  of  success.  A  brace  of  lovers.  Leonce  and  Sabina,  are  cleverly 
designed,  and  the  stout  Cure  we  have  met  scores  of  times.  It  is  a  delightful 
book,  and  one  of  George  Sand's  happiest  productions." — Daily  Time.s. 


And  Translated  from  the  French, 


BY     OLIVER     S.  LELAND. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
T.    B.   PETERSON   &  BROTHERS; 
306    CHESTNUT  STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

T.  B.  PETER fcON  &  BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for  the 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


GEORGE  SAND'S  BEST  WORKS. 

Each  work  in  this  Series  is  Unabridged  and  Complete. 

CONSUELO.  A  Novel.  By  George  Sand.  Translated  from 
the  French,  by  Fayette  Robinson.  One  volume,  duode- 
cimo, cloth,  gilt.    Price  $1.50. 

THE  COUNTESS  OF  RUDOLSTADT.  A  Sequel  to  "  Con- 
suelo."  By  George  Sand.  Translated  from  the  French, 
by  Fayette  Robinson.  One  volume,  duodecimo,  cloth, 
gilt..   Price  $1.50. 

INDIANA.  A  Love  Story.  By  George  Sand.  Translated  from 
the  French,  by  George  W.  Richards.  One  volume,  duo- 
decimo, cloth,  gilt.    Price  $1.50. 

JEALOUSY;  OR,  TEVERINO.  A  Romance.  By  George 
Sand.  Translated  from  the  French.  With  a  Biography 
of  the  Distinguished  Authoress,  by  Oliver  S.  Leland. 
One  volume,  duodecimo,  cloth,  gilt.    Price  $1.50. 

FANCHON;  THE  CRICKET.  By  George  Sand.  Translated 
from  the  French.  One  volume,  duodecimo,  cloth,  gilt. 
Price  $1.50. 

FIRST  AND  TRUE  LOVE;  OR,  ANTOINE  DE  CHA- 
TEAUBRUN.  By  George  Sand.  Translated  from  the 
French.  With  Eleven  Illustrations,  including  Portraits 
of  "Monsieur  Antoine  De  Chateaubrun,"  "Gilberte  De 
Chateaubrun,"  "  Mademoiselle  Janille,"  "  Emile  Cardon- 
net,"  "  Jean  Jappeloup,  the  Carpenter,"  and  "  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Cardonnet."  One  volume,  octavo,  paper 
cover.    Price  Seventy-five  cents. 

TEE  CORSATR.  A  Venetian  Tale.  By  George  Sand.  Tran- 
slated from  the  French.  One  volume,  octavo,  paper  co- 
ver.   Price  Fifty  cents. 


Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers  and  News  Agents. 
Copies  of  any  or  all  of  the  above  books  will  be  sent  to  any  one, 
to  any  place,  postage  pre-paid,  on  receipt  of  their  price  by  the 
Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


£8£ 


A  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

OP 

GEORGE  SAND. 


One  fine  morning,  in  the  first  years  of  the  Restoration,  the 
aristocratic  convent  of  the  "  Dames  Anglaises"  which  at  that 
period  monopolized  the  education  of  the  daughters  of  all  the 
patrician  families  of  Paris,  opened  its  doors  to  a  new,  young, 
and  most  interesting  pensionnaire. 

The  new-comer,  who  was  scarcely  fourteen  years  old,  had 
just  arrived  from  Berry :  her  religious  education  seemed  to 
have  been  much  neglected,  for  the  good  sisters  remarked  with 
a  holy  horror,  that  she  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  with  a  phi- 
losophical awkwardness,  denoting  a  total  want  of  practice. 
She  was,  nevertheless,  a  fine  and  noble-looking-girl :  her  fea- 
tures, very  decided  and  strongly  marked,  breathed  an  air  of 
native  pride  :  she  bore,  without  the  least  embarrassment,  those 
glances,  which,  at  the  convent  as  at  the  college,  are  never 
spared  to  freshly  arrived  provincials,  and  in  her  every  move- 
ment there  was  such  an  impress  of  rustic  brusquerie,  that  in 
a  few  days  her  noble  companions,  sportively,  but  unanimously 
had  given  her  the  nickname  of  "  the  little  boy."  But  this  young 
girl,  in  point  of  birth,  was  the  peer  of  the  most  illustrious 
heiresses  of  France ;  for  if,  on  her  father's  side,  she  was  related 
only  to  a  wealthy  financial  family,  Amantine-Aurore  Dupin, 


20  BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND. 


afterwards  Madame  Dudevant,  but  now  known  by  her  pen 
and  by  her  genius  as  "  George  Sand,"  is  a  descendant  of  Au- 
gustus II.,  king  of  Poland. 

She  was  born  in  the  year  of  the  coronation  of  Napoleon,  the 
twelfth  year  of  the  French  Republic  (1804).  Her  name  is  not 
Marie- Aurore  de  Saxe,  Marchioness  of  Dudevant,  as  several 
of  her  biographers  have  discovered :  but  Amantine  Lucile 
Aurore  Dupin,  and  her  husband,  M.  Francois  Dudevant,  bears 
no  title  :  he  is  only  a  sub-lieutenant  of  infantry,  and  at  the 
time  of  his  marriage  was  but  twenty-seven  years  old.  In 
making  him  an  old  Colonel  of  the  Empire,  he  has  perhaps 
been  confounded  with  M.  Delmare,  a  character  of  one  of  the 
romances  of  his  wife  :  for  it  is,  in  truth,  only  too  easy  to  write 
the  biography  of  a  novelist  by  supposing  the  fiction  of  her 
works  the  reality  of  her  existence.  It  requires  no  great  out- 
lay of  imagination. 

Her  birth,  which  has  so  often  and  so  singularly  been  made 
the  subject  of  reproach,  by  both  branches  of  her  family,  is  a 
fact  in  itself  most  curious,  and  one  that  affords  much  food  for 
reflection  upon  the  question  of  genealogy. 

We  are  not  alone  the  children  of  our  fathers :  we  are,  I 
think,  fully  as  much  the  children  of  our  mothers.  I  even 
believe  that  we  are  a  little  more  so,  and  to  her  who  has  borne 
us  we  hold  a  more  immediate,  a  more  powerful,  and  a  more 
sacred  relation.  Though,  therefore,  the  father  of  George  Sand 
was  the  great-grandson  of  Augustus  II.  King  of  Poland,  and 
though  thus  she  was,  illegitimately,  perhaps,  but  still  most 
nearly  related  to  Charles  X.  and  Louis  XVIII.,  it  is  no  less 
true  that  she  was  connected  as  nearly  and  as  directly  with 
the  people ;  perhaps  even  more  so,  for  on  this  side  there  was 
no  bastardy. 

Her  mother  was  a  poor  girl  of  the  old  pave  of  Paris,  whose 
father,  Antoine  Delaborde,  was  a  master  bird-seller;  that  is, 
he  sold  wrens  and  canary-birds  on  the  Quai  des  Oiseaux,  after 
having  kept  a  little  billiard-room  in  some  out-of-the-way  cor- 
ner of  Paris,  where,  indeed,  he  did  not  pay  his  expenses.  Her 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND.  21 


mother's  godfather,  it  is  true,  stood  high  in  the  bird-trade ;  he 
was  named  Barra,  and  this  name  may  still  be  seen  on  the 
Boulevard  du  Temple,  over  a  store  where  bird-cages  of  all  sizes 
are  for  sale,  and  where  a  crowd  of  feathered  songsters  are  ever 
warbling.  These  little  birds  George  Sand,  to  quote  her  own 
words,  "  has  ever  regarded  as  so  many  godfathers  and  god- 
mothers, mysterious  patrons  with  whom  I  have  ever  had  a 

particular  affinity  I  have  even  written  a  romance 

wherein  the  birds  play  an  important  part,  and  wherein  I  have 
endeavored  to  say  something  on  this  affinity  and  this  occult 
influence.  This  is  Jealousy,  to  which  I  refer  my  readers.  I 
know  well  that  I  do  not  write  for  the  world  at  large  j  man- 
kind, in  general,  has  far  more  important  occupations  than 
reading  a  collection  of  romances,  or  caring  for  the  history  of 
an  individual,  a  stranger  to  the  busy  world.  People  of  my 
profession  write  only  for  a  certain  class,  placed  in  situations 
or  lost  in  reveries  analogous  to  those  with  which  they  are 
occupied. 

"  Thus,  in  Jealousy,  I  have  imagined  a  young  girl  possess- 
ing power,  like  the  first  Eve,  over  the  birds  of  creation,  and  I 
wish  to  observe  here,  that  it  is  not  purely  a  fictitious  creation ; 
no  more  than  the  wonders  told  of  the  poetic  and  admirable 
impostor,  Apollonius  of  Tyana,  are  fables  contrary  to  the 
spirit  of  Christianity.  We  live  in  an  age  in  which  the  natu- 
ral causes,  which  have  heretofore  passed  for  miracles,  are  not 
as  yet  wholly  explained,  but  in  which  it  is  already  undenia- 
ably  established  that  on  earth  there  are  no  miracles,  and  that 
the  laws  of  the  universe,  though  not  all  as  yet  fathomed  and 
defined,  are  not,  on  that  account,  less  conformable  to  eternal 
order."    But  it  is  time  to  return  to  the  chapter  of  her  birth. 

Augustus,  King  of  Poland,  after  having  conquered  Stanis- 
laus, and  secured  himself  in  the  possession  of  the  throne,  re- 
posed from  the  toil  and  torments  of  politics  in  the  arms  of 
love.  By  the  beautiful  Countess  of  Kaenigsmark  he  had  one 
son,  who  under  the  name  of  Maurice,  Count  de  Saxe,  was 
destined  to  rival  the  Duke  de  Richelieu  in  gallant  adventures. 


22 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND. 


and  to  surpass  him  in  warlike  heroism.  He  was  the  acknow- 
ledged lover  of  a  celebrated  actress,  and  by  her  he  had  one 
daughter,  Marie  Aurore,  recognized  as  legitimate  by  a  decree 
of  parliament,  and  who  married,  in  1793,  the  Count  de  Horn, 
formerly  President  of  the  Diet  of  Sweden.  At  the  end  of  three 
years  of  married  life,  the  Countess  de  Horn  was  left  a  widow, 
and  retiring  to  the  Abbaye-aux-Bois,  in  that  sanctuary  destined 
in  after  years  to  shelter  a  glory  of  beauty,  immortalized  by 
grace  and  goodness,  she  presided  over  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished of  those  bureaux  cPesprit,  so  famous  in  the  French  his- 
tory of  the  eighteenth  century.  Young  and  remarkably  beau- 
tiful, it  was  not  long  ere  the  beauteous  widow  inspired  M. 
Dupin  de  Franceuil  with  a  most  ardent  passion,  and  accepting 
the  offer  of  his  hand,  she  went  with  him  to  reside  at  Chateau- 
roux,  from  whence  they  afterwards  removed  to  the  Chateau 
de  Nohant.  One  son,  Maurice  Dupin,  was  the  offspring  of  this 
union,  who,  marrying  at  an  early  age,  was  the  father  of  the 
celebrated  woman  whose  biography  we  are  writing. 

We  have  mentioned  that  Antoine  Delaborde,  the  maternal 
grandfather  of  George  Sand,  finding  the  proprietorship  of  a 
small  billiard-room  inadequate  to  his  support,  took  to  the  sale 
of  birds.  George  Sand's  knowledge  of  this  relative  is  very 
vague,  for  it  seems  that  her  mother  herself  knew  very  little  of 
him.  But  more  definite  recollections  are  entertained,  by  the 
mother  of  George  Sand,  of  a  good  and  pious  grandmother,  who 
brought  up  her  and  her  sister.  It  appears  that  this  venerable 
lady  was  a  staunch  royalist,  and  instilled  into  the  minds  of 
her  grandchildren  a  proper  sentiment  of  abhorrence  for  the 
Revolution.  When  the  eldest,  who  was  named  Sophie- Vic- 
toire- Antoinette,  (the  latter  name  being  in  honor  of  the  unfor- 
tunate Marie- Antoinette.)  was  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  of  age, 
\ier  grandmother,  dressing  her  in  white,  and  garnishing  her 
head  with  powder  and  roses,  conducted  her  to  the  Hotel -de- 
Ville,  where,  having  previously  been  taught  a  pretty  speech 
in  verse,  by  the  actor  Collot-d'Herbois,  she  was  instructed  to 
deliver  it  to  the  citizens  Bailly  and  Lafayette,  a  task  which 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND  23 


8he  accomplished  with  great  eclat  and  self-gratification  at 
being  the  only  one  among  a  bevy  of  pretty  girls  present  on  the 
occasion,  selected  for  the  honor. 

She  was  accompanied  by  the  good  dame  Cloquart,  and  her 
sister  Lucille,  and  after  having  delivered  her  poetic  compli- 
ment, and  presented  the  crown  of  flowers  to  the  citizen  La- 
fayette, all  delighted  at  the  honor  the  distinguished  man 
conferred  upon  her  by  placing  the  garland  upon  her  head,  the 
young  gill,  with  her  sister  and  grandmother,  proceeded  to  par- 
ticipate in  the  banquet  that  was  prepared.  But  the  press  of 
the  crowd  was  so  great  that  the  worthy  dame  Cloquart  and 
Lucille  became  separated  from  Sophie- Victoire,  and,  being 
alarmed,  left  the  scene,  to  wait  for  her  without.  After  a  long 
and  anxious  waiting,  as  the  young  girl  did  not  return,  her 
sister  and  grandmother  were  fain  to  return  home  without  her. 
The  rest  of  the  day. was  spent  in  much  sorrow  and  anxiety, 
happily  dispelled  at  night-fall  by  the  appearance  of  the  young 
girl,  escorted  in  triumph  by  a  band  of  patriots  of  both  sexes, 
who,  such  was  their  respect  for  their  protegee,  had  not  suffered 
even  her  robe  to  be  rumpled  by  the  profane  contact  of  the 
multitude.  Although  much  doubt  existed  in  the  family  rela- 
tive to  the  precise  nature  of  this  political  event,  we  are  in- 
clined to  believe  that  it  must  have  been  the  occasion  of  La- 
fayette announcing  that  the  king  had  decided  to  return  once 
more  to  his  good  city  of  Paris.  This  event  probably  gave  the 
young  girl  a  taste  for  the  Revolution,  though  it  may  be 
imagined  that  her  enthusiasm  was  somewhat  damped  when 
subsequently  she  beheld  the  lovely  features  and  beautiful 
blond  hair  of  the  Princess  de  Lamballe  paraded  through  the 
streets  upon  the  point  of  a  pike-staff.  They  were  at  this 
period  so  poor  that  Lucie  took  in  needle-work,  and  Victoire 
helped  to  eke  out  their  scanty  subsistance  by  her  duties  as 
a  supernumerary  at  a  small  theatre.  Lucie  denied  this  latter 
fact,  but  George  Sand  states  that  it  was  true,  for  her  mother 
frequently  mentioned  the  circumstance  to  her,  in  certain  con- 


24  BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND. 


nections  which  fixed  the  truth  of  the  matter  and  stamped  it 
indelibly  upon  her  memory. 

From  this  period,  all  trace  of  the  mother  of  George  Sand  is 
lost  for  a  long  time,  nor  is  it  known  with  certainty  how  the 
young  and  wealthy  patrician,  Maurice  Dupin,  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  poor  and  humble  daughter  of  the  people. 
But  the  chapter  of  their  loves  is  all  a  romance.  It  seems 
most  probable  that  in  some  way  they  had  first  met  at  Milan, 
where  Maurice  had  loved  her,  and  afterwards  at  Asola,  where 
his  passion  became  most  ardent,  and  where  his  love  was  re- 
turned. In  a  letter  written  to  his  mother  at  this  time  he 
says : 

"  You  know  that  at  Milan  I  have  been  in  love.  You  have 
guessed  it  because  I  have  not  told  you.  Sometimes  I  thought 
that  I  was  loved  in  return,  and  again  1  saw,  or  thought  1  saw, 
that  I  was  not.  I  sought  to  forget  her.  I  went  away,  striv- 
ing to  think  of  her  no  more. 

u  But  this  charming  woman  is  here :  we  had  scarcely 
spoken,  scarcely  looked  at  each  other,  for  I  was  vexed  at  I 
know  not  what,  and  she  seemed  to  have  for  me  an  air  of  pride 
and  coolness,  though  her  heart  is  most  tender  and  passionate. 
But  this  morning  at  breakfast  we  heard  afar  off  the  firing  of 
cannon.  The  general  ordered  me  to  go  and  seek  the  cause.  I 
arose,  and  in  two  bounds  had  descended  the  stairs  and  ran  to 
the  stable.  As  I  mounted  my  horse,  I  cast  one  glance  behind 
me,  and  saw  this  dear  girl  blushing,  embarrassed,  regarding 
me  with  eyes  expressing  fear,  interest,  love.  I  could  have 
pressed  her  to  my  heart,  but  then  it  was  impossible.  When 
I  returned,  she  was  still  there.  Ah  !  how  I  was  received,  and 
how  gay  and  pleasant  was  that  dinner !  How  many  little 
delicate  attentions  she  had  for  me  ! 

"  In  the  evening,  by  an  unhoped-for  chance,  I  found  myself 
alone  with  her.  Everybody,  tired  out  with  the  excessive  labors 
of  the  day,  had  retired.  I  lost  no  time  in  telling  her  how 
much  I  loved  her,  and  she,  bursting  into  tears,  threw  herself  into 
my  arms.    Then,  disengaging  herself  from  my  embrace,  she 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND.  25 


ran  and  locked  herself  in  her  chamber.  I  wished  to  follow 
her.  She  begged,  prayed,  and  conjured  me  to  leave  her  to  her- 
self, and,  like  a  submissive  lover.  I  obeyed.  Ah  !  how  sweet 
it  is  to  be  loved  \n 

For  the  first  time  Maurice  Dupin  had  experienced  a  true 
passion.  This  charming  woman,  of  whom  he  speaks  with  a 
mingled  enthusiasm  and  levity,  this  fascinating  amour  which 
he  thought  to  forget  as  he  had  forgotten  so  many  others,  was 
henceforth  to  take  possession  of  his  soul,  and  to  involve  him  in 
a  strife  against  himself,  which  was  all  the  happiness,  all  the 
despair,  all  the  grandeur  of  the  last  years  of  his  life.  Yes, 
this  lovely  woman,  whom  he  had  sighed  for  at  Milan,  and 
conquered  at  Asola,  was  no  other  than  the  pretty  daughter  of 
the  people,  whom  we  have  seen  presenting  to  Lafayette  her 
garland  of  flowers,  and  who  was  destined  to  be  the  mother  of 
George  Sand. 

But  as  the  course  of  true  love  n*ever  did  run  smooth,  so 
Maurice  Dupin  met  with  the  most  violent  opposition  on  the 
part  of  his  mother,  a  mother  whom  he  dearly  loved,  and 
whose  slightest  wish  he  had  ever  been  accustomed  to  regard 
as  law.  By  all  sorts  of  endearments,  and  by  the  most  touch- 
ing letters,  she  sought  to  recall  her  son  to  herself,  to  separate 
him  from  this  love  which  she  regarded  as  a  rival  to  her  own. 
Great,  indeed,  was  the  torture,  many  were  the  hours  of  an- 
guish and  suffering  that  poor  Maurice  was  fated  to  experience ; 
but  true  love  overcomes  all  obstacles,  breaks  down  all  barriers. 
Maurice  acted  like  a  true  and  loyal  gentleman,  and  though  it 
cost  him  much  to  disobey  his  mother's  wish,  yet  he  owed  a 
higher  duty  to  her  who  had  sacrificed  all  for  him,  and  where 
he  had  given  his  heart,  there  he  hesitated  not  to  give  his  hand. 
And  Sophie  Delaborde,  though  she  was  but  the  child  of  the 
people,  and  though  her  youth  had  been  given  up,  by  force  of 
circumstances,  to  the  most  frightful  hazards,  from  which  she 
had  perchance  not  come  forth  all  undefiled,  still  was  a  noble 
woman,  and  made  a  fond,  a  loving  and  devoted  wife.  She 
had  even  strength  of  mind  to  urge  Maurice  not  to  disobey  his 


26 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND. 


mother  s  wishes,  though  she  knew  her  own  shame  must  be 
the  consequence  of  such  obedience,  and,  at  the  last  moment, 
clad  in  a  little  muslin  dress,  and  having  only  a  little  fillet  of 
gold  upon  her  finger,  for  their  finances  did  not  allow  the  ex- 
travagance of  a  real  wedding-ring,  Sophie,  happy  and  trem- 
bling, most  interesting  from  her  approaching  confinement,  and 
careless  of  her  own  future,  offered  to  forego  the  marriage-rite, 
which,  she  said,  could,  in  no  way,  add  to  or  change  their 
loves.  But  Maurice  was  resolute,  and  when  they  had  returned 
home  after  the  performance  of  the  ceremony,  he  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands,  and  gave  an  hour  to  his  sorrow  for  having 
disobeyed  the  best  of  mothers.  He  tried  to  write  to  her,  but 
was  able  to  pen  only  a  few  lines,  which  express  his  grief  and 
his  remorse.  Then,  asking  pardon  of  his  wife  for  this  moment 
given  to  nature,  pressing  her  fondly  to  his  heart,  and  swear- 
ing that  he  would  ever  love  her,  he  departed  for  Nohant, 
intending  to  avow  all,  and  hoping  that  all  would  be  forgiven. 
But  his  resolution  and  his  hopes  were  all  in  vain ;  and  he 
returned  to  Paris  without  having  dared  to  betray  his  secret. 
His  wife's  sister  Lucie  was  on  the  eve  of  marriage  with  an 
officer,  the  friend  of  Maurice,  and  in  his  quiet  and  retired 
house  some  friends  of  the  family  were  one  day  assembled  in 
honor  of  the  approaching  nuptials.  As  Maurice  was  playing 
on  his  violin  a  contradance  for  the  amusement  of  the  guests, 
Sophie,  who,  on  that  day,  wore  a  pretty  rose-colored  dress, 
feeling  a  little  unwell,  left  the  dance,  and  passed  into  her 
chamber.  As  her  figure  was  not  perceptibly  altered,  and  as 
she  went  out  very  quietly,  the  dancing  was  continued.  At 
the  last  chassez-all  Lucie  entered  her  chamber,  and  imme- 
diately exclaimed  :  "  Come,  come  Maurice ;  you  have  a 
daughter  !" 

"  She  shall  be  named  Aurore,  for  my  poor  mother,  who  is 
not  here  to  bless  her,  but  who  will  one  day  bless  her/;  said 
Maurice,  taking  the  babe  in  his  arms. 

It  was  the  5th  of  July,  1804,  the  last  year  of  the  Republic, 
the  first  year  of  the  Empire. 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND. 


27 


"  She  was  "born  among  the  roses,  to  the  sound  of  ramie  ;  she 
will  be  fortunate/'  said  Lucie. 

The  old  violin  to  the  sound  of  which  she  came  into  the 
world,  George  Sand  still  possesses,  a  most  precious  relic. 

On  the  5th  of  July  1804,  George  Sand  came  thus  into  the 
world,  her  father  playing  on  the  violin,  and  her  mother  wear- 
ing a  pretty  rose-colored  dress.  She  came  into  the  world  a 
legitimate  daughter,  thanks  to  her  father's  resolution  in  not 
yielding  to  the  prejudices  of  his  family ;  and  though  his  mo- 
ther was  for  a  long  time  much  incensed  at  his  act  of  filial 
disobedience,  she  at  length  relented,  and,  at  the  death  of 
Maurice,  Amantine-Aurore  was  entrusted  to  her  care. 

This  child,  who  was  destined  to  become  the  famous  George 
Sand,  was  at  first  brought  up  after  the  manner  of  Jean- Jacques. 
She  was  a  little  Emile,  sporting  all  the  day  on  the  banks  of 
the  Indre,  chasing  the  butterflies  along  the  winding  ravines 
of  the  u  Dark  Valley,"  and  who,  returning  at  night-fall  from 
her  poetic  wanderings,  listened  to  marvellous  tales,  told  of  the 
pomps  of  Versailles,  the  pleasures  of  Trianon,  the  mysteries 
of  the  Parc-aux-Cerfs,  the  roues  and  the  philosophers  of  the 
olden  time.  These  recitals  were  not  lost,  and  by  the  aid  of 
reminiscences  of  this  kind,  we  may  perhaps  explain  how  a 
talent  so  original,  so  subdued  in  style,  and  ordinarily  so  pro- 
foundly impassioned,  has  sometimes  been  able,  in  such  charm- 
ing sketches  as  "  The  Marchioness"  for  instance,  to  go  back, 
and  to  reproduce  in  all  their  truth  the  elegant  customs,  the 
flowery  passions,  and  the  sparkling  language  of  the  eighteenth 
century. 

At  the  age  of  fifteen,  Aurore  was  perfect  in  the  use  of  the 
gun  and  the  sword,  and  danced  and  rode  with  an  irresistible 
grace.  She  was  an  adorable  and  petulant  little  amazon^  a 
charming  little  feminine  demon,  who,  like  her  beautiful  grand- 
mother, could  have  well  borne  her  part  in  a  hunt  in  the  woods 
of  Marly,  but  who  knew  not  how  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross. 
But  the  religious  reaction  which  followed  the  Restoration 
having  rendered  the  doctrines  of  Jean-Jacques  most  unpopular 


28  BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND. 


Madame  Dupin  thought  it  time  to  sacrifice  her  philosophical 
method  of  education  to  the  new  and  more  wholesome  system 
of  ideas  which  was  then  received  with  favor,  and  to  give  to 
her  grand-daughter  an  education  analogous  to  the  situation 
which  both  her  birth  and  her  wealth  called  her  to  occupy 
in  the  world.  Then  it  was  that  the  beautiful  child  of  the 
country  was  forced  to  leave  her  "  Bark  Valley"  for  the  con- 
vent a  Des  Anglaises"  at  Paris,  where  we  have  already  seen 
her  enter,  there  to  receive  her  religious  education,  of  which  as 
yet  she  had  not  the  least  knowledge. 

This  separation  from  her  grandmother  was  most  painful, 
and  the  contrast  to  her  former  life  very  great, — that  life  in 
which  she  was  so  free,  and  which  she  has  so  charmingly  de- 
scribed, when,  after  a  day  spent  in  the  fields,  she  is  suddenly 
overtaken  by  the  shadows  of  night  and  must  return. 

"  Yes,  it  is  so.  The  lambs  are  bleating,  the  flocks  have 
returned  to  the  fold,  the  cricket  is  chirping  in  the  fields  :  you 
must  return. 

"  The  way  is  stony,  the  stepping-stones  are  wet  and  slip- 
pery, the  hill-side  is  rough. 

"  You  are  covered  with  perspiration ;  but  all  in  vain  :  you 
will  arrive  too  late;  supper  has  been  served. 

"  In  vain  the  old  servant  who  loves  you  has  kept  it  back  as 
long  as  possible  :  you  will  have  the  humiliation  to  enter  the 
last,  and  the  good  grandmother,  inexorable  on  all  points  of 
etiquette,  with  a  voice  at  once  sweet  and  sad,  will  reproach 
you  very  lightly,  very  tenderly, — a  reproach  which  you  will 
feel  more  than  the  most  severe  punishment. 

"  But  when  in  the  evening  she  will  demand  how  and  where 
you  have  passed  the  day,  and  when  you,  all  blushing,  shall 
confess  that  you  have  been  absorbed  in  reading  in  some 
meadow,  and  when  you  shall  be  summoned  to  produce  the 
book,  you  shall,  all  trembling,  draw  from  your  pocket,  what  ? 
Estelle  and  Nemorin  ! 

"  Oh !  then,  grandmother  smiles. 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND.  29 


t{  Calm  yourself:  your  treasure  will  be  restored  to  you;  but 
you  must  not  again  forget  the  supper-hour. 

"  Oh,  happy  time  !  oh,  my  Dark  Valley  !  oh,  Corinne  !  oh, 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  !  oh,  Atala !  oh,  willows  by  the 
river's  bank  !  oh,  my  past  youth  !  oh,  my  old  dog,  who  did 
not  forget  the  supper-hour,  and  who  answered  to  the  sound  of 
the  distant  village  clock,  by  a  mournful  howl  of  mingled  re- 
gret and  gluttony  !" 

Truly  these  little  details  are  delicious,  and,  in  comparison, 
the  convent  life  was  indeed  gloomy.  Yet,  scarce  had  a  month 
elapsed  ere  the  young  girl  was  no  longer  recognizable  :  that 
ardent  and  mobile  imagination  which  will  afterwards  shine 
through  the  most  abrupt  eccentricities  of  the  great  authoress, 
began  to  develop  itself  in  all  its  power.  The  pomp  and 
majesty  of  the  Catholic  ceremonies,  the  uniform  life,  the  pious 
and  peaceable  atmosphere  of  the  cloister,  produced  a  complete 
revolution  in  her  soul.  Like  Saint  Theresa,  she  passed  whole 
hours  in  ecstasy,  at  the  foot  of  the  altar;  the  rules  did  not 
appear  to  her  sufficiently  severe,  and  the  superior  was  often 
obliged  to  moderate  her  religious  exaltation  through  considera- 
tion for  her  health. 

Six  years  later,  in  the  Chateau  de  Nohant,  there  was  a 
woman  who  was  dying  of  sadness  and  ennui  :  it  was  the  pious 
pensionnaire  of  the  convent  "  des  Anglaises"  weeping  over  her 
lost  liberty,  and  deploring  a  yoke  which  she  was  soon  to  break. 
Scarcely  had  she  bade  farewell  to  convent  life,  when  she  was 
called  to  mourn  the  loss  of  that  dear  grandmother  whom  she 
had  so  much  loved  :  and  then,  alone,  without  a  guide,  without  a 
counsellor,  young,  rich,  and  an  orphan,  she  had  been  forced  to 
marry  a  man  whom  she  did  not  love.  Lively  and  impression- 
able as  Indiana,  candid  and  enthusiastic  as  Valentine,  haughty 
and  indomitable  as  Lelia,  she  found  herself  united  to  M.  Fran- 
cois Dudevant,  a  gentleman  farmer,  like  the  many  others  with 
which  old  Aquitaine  is  full,  considering  the  refinements  of  the 
heart  as  so  much  folly  and  nonsense,  taking  life  for  what  it 
is  worth,  not  too  learned,  but  well  versed  in  the  rdsing  of 


30 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND 


cattle.  Never,  indeed,  could  a  marriage  be  more  discordant  with 
a  nature  at  once  so  proud  and  tender  as  that  of  the  young 
wife.  But  she  had  a  fortune  of  nearly  half  a  million,  and  her 
husband,  in  touching  this  dowry,  hastened  to  extend  his  agri- 
cultural operations.  He  filled  his  sheep-folds  with  pure- 
blooded  merinos,  bought  magnificent  bulls,  doubled  the  num- 
ber of  his  ploughs,  and  occupied  himself  with  every  thing  except 
his  wife,  and  did  not  appear  to  perceive  that  Aurore.  with  her 
seventeen  years,  her  delicate  soul,  and  her  extreme  sensibility, 
was  dying  by  inches  in  the  midst  of  this  prosaic  existence. 

But  the  first  few  years  of  her  married  life,  if  not  happy, 
were  at  least  peaceable.  Madame  Dudevant  supported  her 
sorrows  with  the  resignation  of  an  angel :  two  beauteous  chil- 
dren stretched  out  to  her  their  arms,  and  consoled  her  by  their 
smiles.  But  soon,  says  the  author  of  a  sketch,  traced  some 
fifteen  years  since  in  the  Galerie  de  la  Presse,  she  found  herself 
forestalled  in  the  affections  of  her  children.  Then  she  could 
endure  no  longer,  she  became  seriously  ill,  and  her  physicians 
prescribed  a  journey  to  the  springs  of  the  Pyrenees.  M.  Du- 
devant, wholly  engaged  with  his  merinos  and  his  ploughs, 
could  not  accompany  his  wife. 

At  Bordeaux,  where  she  first  stopped,  and  where  she  was 
eagerly  welcomed  by  the  old  friends  of  her  family,  Madame 
Dudevant  could  at  last  know  the  world.  She  was  over- 
whelmed with  attentions,  the  praises  of  the  rare  qualities 
with  which  she  was  endowed,  were  heard  on  every  side.  A 
thousand  homages,  a  thousand  adorations,  unceasingly  sur- 
rounded her.  One  of  the  first  shipping  merchants  of  Bordeaux, 
a  young  man  of  merit  and  distinction,  fell  desperately  in  love 
with  the  young  wife :  but  she  had  sufficient  power  over  her 
heart  not  to  yield  to  this  passion.  In  the  valley  of  Argeles, 
at  the  foot  of  the  lofty  Pyrenees,  in  the  presence  of  a  magnifi- 
cent nature  which  elevated  their  souls  to  the  sublimity  of  the 
sacrifice,  they  bade  each  other  an  eternal  farewell. 

Returning  home,  Madame  Dudevant,  thanks  to  the  negative 
amiability  of  her  husband,  resumed  the  old  monotonous  and 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND.  31 


weary  life  :  but  the  impressions  of  this  journey,  the  aspect  of 
a  wild  and  romantic  nature,  and  that  first  illusion  of  love,  in 
awakening  the  imagination  of  the  artist  and  the  heart  of  ihe 
woman,  served  on  her  return  only  to  increase  still  more  the 
burden  of  this  arid  and  dreary  life.  She  received  with  open 
arms,  as  so  many  saviours,  the  arts,  poetry,  and  science ;  but 
in  vain  did  she  combat  the  rebellious  thoughts  of  which  she 
was  no  longer  the  mistress ;  and  at  last,  after  many  struggles, 
after  many  a  grievous  scene,  of  which  the  bitter  memory  may 
be  traced  in  more  than  one  page  of  George  Sand,  the  wife 
violently  freed  herself,  the  poetess  took  her  flight,  and  one  day 
the  Chatelaine  of  Nohaut  was  sought  in  vain;  she  had  disap- 
peared. What  had  become  of  her  ?  whither  had  she  gone  ?— 
None  could  tell. 

Here,  I  find  in  notes  which  I  have  every  reason  to  believe 
correct,  a  fact  which  clearly  shows  the  fluctuations  of  a  noble 
and  ardent  soul  in  its  state  of  unrest. 

In  1828,  the  father-confessor  of  the  convent  of  the  "  An- 
glaises,'1  who  had  formerly  directed  the  conscience  of  Made- 
moiselle Dupin,  came  one  day  to  beg  the  Lady  Superior  to 
grant  him  a  favor.  He  related  to  her  how  one  of  his  penitents, 
a  former  boarder  at  the  convent,  being  in  a  most  painful  and 
difficult  situation,  desired  in  the  bosom  of  her  old  home  to  find 
a  pious  retreat.  The  Lady  Superior  at  first  refused,  alleging 
the  custom  and  the  rule;  but  the  good  priest  insisted,  at  last 
obtained  his  demand,  and  the  fugitive  of  Nohant  recrossed  the 
threshold  of  that  peaceful  refuge,  where,  all  pure  and  untrou- 
bled, the  days  of  her  youth  had  flown  so  quickly  by.  But  her 
destiny  called  her  elsewhere,  genius  reclaimed  its  due,  and  in 
a  few  days  she  boldly  re-entered  the  world,  to  give  herself  up 
henceforth  to  all  the  hazards,  to  all  the  passions,  to  all  tLe 
joys,  and  to  all  the  sorrows  of  the  irregular  life  of  the  artiste. 

The  period  on  which  we  are  now  entering  is  a  delicate  one, 
and  one  difficult  of  access.  A  biographer  may  indeed  be  des- 
titute of  all  wit  or  talent;  but  there  is  imperiously  demanded 
of  him  dignity  and  good  faith,  especially  when  there  is 


32  BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND. 


question  of  a  genius  that  he  may  pity,  blame,  or  praise,  but 
which  has  a  double  title  to  his  respect.  But  for  those  who 
are  never  contented  without  facts,  I  will  here  transcribe  this 
touching  page  from  George  Sand's  "  Lettres  d'un  VoyageurP 

n  I  care  but  little  that  I  am  growing  old :  I  care  far  more 
that  I  am  growing  old  alone,  but  I  have  never  yet  met  with  the 
being  with  whom  I  would  have  wished  to  live  and  die :  or,  if  I 
have  met  with  such  a  one,  I  have  not  been  able  to  keep  him. 
Listen  to  a  story,  and  weep.  There  was  a  good  artist  named 
Watelet,  who  was  a  better  aqua-fortis  engraver  than  any  man 
of  his  time.  He  loved  Marguerite  Lecomte,  and  taught  her  to 
engrave  as  well  as  himself.  She  left  her  husband,  her  pro- 
perty, and  her  country,  to  go  and  live  with  Watelet :  the  world 
blamed  them,  but  they  were  poor  and  humble,  so  they  were 
soon  forgotten.  Forty  years  afterwards,  there  were  found  in  the 
outskirts  of  Paris,  in  a  little  house  called  the  '  Pretty- Mill/ 
an  old  man  who  was  an  aqua-fortis  engraver  and  an  old  wo- 
man who  worked  with  him.  seated  at  the  same  table  

The  last  design  that  they  engraved  together,  represented  the 
{ Pretty-Mill,'  the  house  of  Marguerite  with  this  device,  '  Cur 
valle  permutem  Sabina  divitias  operosioresV  It  is  hung  in 
my  chamber  above  a  portrait,  the  original  of  which  no  person 
here  has  seen.  For  a  whole  year,  he  who  gave  me  this  por- 
trait, was  seated  with  me  every  night  at  a  little  table,  and  he 
has  lived  by  the  same  labor  as  I  have  done.  At  daybreak  we 
consulted  together  about  our  little  work,  and  we  supped  at  the 
same  table,  talking  of  art  and  of  the  future.  The  future  has 
not  kept  its  promises  to  us — oh  !  Marguerite  Lecomte,  pray  for 
me  !» 

This  page,  written  with  the  tears  of  George  Sand,  is  the 
finest  eulogy  on  her  old  friend  and  collaborateur,  Jules  Sandeau. 
Here  is  another  story  more  or  less  connected  with  the  first. 

Some  time  after  the  Revolution  of  July,  there  appeared  a 
little  book  entitled  "  Rose  and  Blanche,  or  The  Actress  and  the 
Nun."  This  book,  which  at  first  attracted  but  little  notice, 
fell  by  chance  into  the  hands  of  a  publisher,  who,  on  reading 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND.  33 


it,  struck  by  the  descriptive  richness  of  certain  scenes,  and  by 
the  novelty  of  the  situations,  sought  out  the  residence  of  the 
author.  He  was  directed  to  a  modest  little  house,  and  ascend- 
ing to  the  attic,  he  there  found  a  young  man  who  was  writing 
at  a  little  table,  and  a  young  woman  who  was  coloring  flowers 
by  his  side.  They  were  Watelet  and  Marguerite  Lecomte — 
in  other  words,  Madame  Dudevant  and  Jules  Sandeau.  He 
spoke  of  the  book,  and  he  found  that  Marguerite,  who  knew 
how  to  write  even  better  than  Watelet,  had  written  a  good 
part  of  this  one ;  but  as  books  did  not  sell  very  well,  to  her 
literary  employments  she  added  the  more  lucrative  one  of 
painting.  Encouraged  by  the  praise  of  the  publisher,  she  drew 
forth  a  manuscript  written  wholly  in  her  own  hand :  the  pub- 
lisher examined  it,  and  bought  it;  it  was  the  manuscript  of 
Indiana.  Madame  Dudevant  wished  it  to  be  published  under 
the  same  signature  as  Rose  and  Blanche,  namely,  Jules  Sand, 
but  Sandeau,  who  had  had  not  written  a  line  of  this  book, 
refused.  She  insisted,  but  he  was  resolute.  In  the  dilemma 
they  had  recourse  to  the  publisher.  u  Sand"  said  he,  "is 
common  property.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  choose  another 
praenomen.  Hold,  here  is  the  calendar  :  it  is  the  23d  of  April, 
Saint  George's  day.  Call  yourself  George  Sand,  and  it  is 
done."  Such  was  the  origin  of  this  name,  which  to-day 
shines  so  brightly  among  the  greatest  and  most  glorious  names 
of  France. 

In  less  than  ten  years,  George  Sand  produced  more  than 
thirty  volumes,  which  provoked  nearly  four  times  as  many 
volumes  of  criticism,  offensive  and  defensive.  To  me  it  seems 
that  all  this  time  criticism  was  battling  against  nothing ;  it 
began  by  supposing  what  did  not  exist,  and,  as  George  Sand 
has  somewhere  said,  "  it  mistook  bladders  for  lanterns,  that  is, 
passions  for  reasoning,  eloquent  laments  for  systems,  and  the 
cries  of  the  heart  for  conclusions." 

Repulse,  as  much  as  you  please,  the  sterile  theories  of  art 
as  art,  blame  the  artist  for  not  arriving  at  conclusions,  or 
rather  for  speaking  when  there  are  no  conclusions  to  arrive 
2 


34 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND. 


at :  but  do  not  tramsform  him,  do  not  force  him  to  come  to  a 
conclusion  in  spite  of  himself,  do  not  elevate  a  brilliant  poet- 
ical individuality  into  a  social  power,  either  to  attack  or  to 
defend  it.  Let  conviction  operate  with  the  poet  in  his  own 
6phere,  you  will  gain  nothing  by  forcing  it.  In  truth,  we 
now-a-days  look  upon  our  poets  too  practically :  the  geome- 
trician who  asked  of  them  "what  does  all  that  prove?"  was 
hardly  more  ridiculous  than  we  who  endeavor  to  find  in  them 
the  proof  of  every  thing.  This  is  in  fact  the  result  of  a  gen 
eral  waywardness  of  the  age : — a  word  of  explanation  may 
not  be  here  out  of  place. 

French  society  and  literature,  at  the  time  that  George  Sand 
first  appeared  as  a  writer,  was  in  a  confused,  peculiar  state. 
Nations,  as  they  grow  old,  are  subject  to  all  the  infirmities 
and  manias  of  old  men.  The  ancients  took  near-sighted  views 
of  things ;  punctilious  analysts,  they  exhausted  their  faculties 
in  minute  speculations  :  we,  on  the  contrary,  wander  in  the 
vague,  peer  into  the  infinite ;  we  moderns  leave  history  for 
narrow  minds,  while  we  ourselves  investigate  the  philosophy 
of  history.  With  a  dozen  stupendous  substantives  and  two  or 
three  classifications  of  universal  adaptation,  the  first-comer 
will  describe  a  priori  the  vicissitudes  of  the  Chinese  or  the 
Mongolese  Empire,  of  which  he  knows,  in  reality,  absolutely 
nothing.  In  religion,  there  are  no  more  Catholics  or  Protes- 
tants, nor  Atheists  or  Theists,  but  only  Pantheists,  which, 
indeed,  is  very  grand  and  high-sounding,  but  which  is  not  at  all 
perspicuous.  In  politics,  individual  and  national  interests  are 
lost  sight  of  in  our  solicitude  for  Humanity  in  general.  Once, 
the  simple-minded  wrote  poetry  and  music,  and  cultivated 
the  arts  ;  in  our  days,  we  make  social  poetry,  apocalyptic 
music,  and  metaphysical  painting.  We  have  discovered  the 
Iliad  to  be  a  myth,  the  JEneid  a  symbol ;  and  if  Dante  and 
Shakspeare  were  to  return  to  us  in  this  age,  I  fancy  they 
would  be  surprised  at  having  said  so  many  sage  things,  of 
which  they  had  not  the  least  idea.    I  once  considered  Raphael 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND.  35 


a  great  painter ;  but  now  we  read  in  learned  books  that  he 
was  the  greatest  theologian  of  his  time. 

When  this  period  of  confusion  was  at  its  height,  a  woman 
appeared  upon  the  scene  with  all  the  qualities  and  defects 
that  constitute  the  poet.  She  was  wanting  in  nothing,  neither 
in  impetuosity  of  imagination,  nor  in  flexible  and  passionate 
organization,  warmth  of  inspiration,  or  richness  of  language; 
even  the  precarious  and  exceptional  life  of  the  artist  was  there. 
Unfortunate  in  her  married  state,  she  discarded  marriage ; 
rich,  she  left  behind  her  her  whole  fortune,  sacrificing  all  for 
Liberty,  that  household  god  which  always  graces  the  barren 
fireside  of  bohemians  and  poets.  She  must  live.  Ignorant 
of  her  own  powers,  she  was  counselled  to  write,  and  she 
wrote  :  and  the  profoundly  philosophic,  or  perverse  idea  which 
gave  birth  to  her  first  book  was,  as  she  herself  has  in  many 
places  said,  simply  to  gain  her  daily  bread.  The  book  was 
prodigiously  successful  :  it  was  a  story  of  the  heart,  burning 
with  passion,  grief,  and  anger.  The  plot  was  by  no  means 
new  :  it  was  of  a  wife,  a  husband,  and  a  lover.  The  portrait 
of  the  husband  was  anything  but  flattered  :  how  could  it  have 
been  otherwise  ?  The  lover  himself — and  this  seems  a  first 
deception — the  lover,  which  a  writer  has  called,  why,  I  know 
not,  the  king  of  the  books  of  George  Sand,  presented,  in  this  as 
in  other  works,  a  very  odious  and  pitiable  appearance;  the 
fine  character,  very  naturally,  was  the  woman.  Criticism, 
which  is  surprised  at  everything,  wondered  at  such  a  success 
achieved  without  its  aid,  and  got  over  the  affair,  by  declaring 
that  all  women  have  a  romance  in  their  hearts,  and  that  when 
once  this  secret  is  revealed,  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  told. 
Six  months  later,  Valentine  palpably  gave  criticism  the  lie. 
Here  again,  in  sooth,  was  the  same  basis  :  a  woman,  a  hus- 
band and  a  lover.  The  author,  having  but  little  experience, 
had  but  one  string  to  her  bow ;  but  the  arrow  that  she  hurled 
was  of  a  novel  kind.  From  brutal  and  ignorant,  the  husband 
had  become  coldly  polished,  and  a  profound  egotist ;  the  lover 
had  improved  in  every  respect :  he  was  noble,  generous,  and 


36  BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND. 


handsome ;  with  certain  mmute  differences,  the  woman  had 
remained  substantially  the  same.  In  Jacques,  the  third  novel, 
written  before  Lelia,  although  it  appeared  subsequently,  the 
principal  characters  are  still  the  wife,  the  husband,  and  the 
lover,  only  in  this  case  it  is  the  husband  that  has  the  fine 
part.  Jacques  has  all  the  qualities  requisite  to  insure  the 
happiness  of  a  woman  :  he  is  great  and  good ;  and,  although 
his  heart  has  lost  its  freshness,  he  has  so  much  nobleness  of 
soul,  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  love  him  :  the  indispensable 
rival  is  not  equal  to  the  competition  :  Octave  is  a  common 
vaudeville  lover,  and  yet  Fernande  falls.  It  is  generally 
allowed  that  this  novel  is  the  most  immoral  of  all  of  George 
Sand's  productions.  It  is  said  to  set  forth  an  absolute  denial 
of  love  in  the  married  state.  I  do  not  know  what  may  have 
been  the  primitive  idea  of  the  author,  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  true  morality  of  the  work,  and  the  impression  left  in  the 
mind  of  the  unprejudiced  reader  is,  that  Fernande  is  a  little 
simpleton,  who  loves  her  husband  without  understanding  him, 
ceases  to  love  without  knowing  why,  and  whose  act  of  deceit 
is  unpardonable.  Far  from  considering  this  work  dangerous 
in  its  tendency.  I  am  convinced,  on  the  contrary,  that  there  is 
no  woman,  have  she  never  so  little  delicacy,  who  is  not  men- 
tally disgusted  with  the  denouement. 

After  Jacques,  came  Lelia.  Since  Indiana  the  authoress 
had  lived ;  she  had  loved,  and,  by  turns,  had  ceased  to  love  or 
to  be  loved  :  she  had  suffered,  and,  after  having  despaired  of 
love  in  marriage,  she  had  despaired  of  love,  of  life,  of  God,  of 
everything  j  and,  one  fine  day,  in  a  paroxysm  of  intermittent 
fever,  between  the  burning  and  the  chill,  Lelia  was  written. 

When  this  book  appeared,  the  mingled  emotions  of  enthu- 
siasm and  repulsion  excited  around  the  name  of  George  Sand 
reached  their  height.  While  the  philosophical  phalanx 
stretched  forth  to  her  their  arms,  crying  :  {£  Welcome  !  oh,  pro- 
phetess !"  the  moralists  shook  their  clenched  hands  at  her, 
stigmatizing  her  as  "  Poisoner !"  But,  in  truth,  she  was 
neither  a  Pythoness  nor  a  Borgia  :  she  was  but  a  poet,  all 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND.  37 


whose  faculties  had  been  over-excited  by  a  species  of  delirium, 
to  the  detriment  of  the  principal  one  :  the  reason. 

After  this  great  cry  of  suffering,  the  soul  of  George  Sand 
appeared  to  grow  more  calm,  and  little  by  little,  to  resume  its 
serenity.  Her  social  position  became  fixed.  She  legally  se- 
parated herself  from  her  husband,  regained  the  possession  of 
her  fortune,  and  went  to  seek,  fiom  the  mountains  of  Switzer- 
land, from  the  beautiful  skies  of  Florence  and  of  Venice,  less 
sombre  thoughts,  more  smiling  inspirations.  She  wrote  two 
or  three  charming  novels,  as  Leone  Leonie,  in  which  the  in- 
variable types  of  her  former  works  are  laid  aside.  Her 
thoughts  became  less  bitter  and  more  purely  artistic,  and  this 
soothing,  quieting  influence,  gradually  increased.  Then,  she 
wrote  Andre,  that  delicious  little  book,  which  would  be  the 
worthy  brother  of  "  Paul  et  Virginie"  were  it  not  for  a  certain 
coarseness,  humiliating  and  most  grievous,  but  happily  false 
and  impossible  in  the  plan  of  the  character  of  Andre.  George 
Sand  has  herself  said  :  "  Angels  are  less  pure  than  the  heart 
of  a  young  man  of  twenty,  when  he  loves  with  passion." 
And  that  is  not  only  well  said,  but  most  true ;  for  all  corrupt- 
ed, all  vicious,  as  we  are,  there  is  perhaps  not  one  among  us 
all  who  does  not  cherish  in  some  secret  corner  of  his  heart  the 
holy  memory  of  some  first  mystery  of  pure  love,  of  chaste 
abandon,  and  of,  alas  !  too  easy  a  renunciation. 

After  Andre,  appeared  Simon,  Mauprat,  the  Lettres  d'un 
Voyageur,  &c,  &c.  The  period  of  passion  was  gradually 
losing  itself  in  one  of  calmness,  poetry,  and  truth.  The  re- 
ligious phase  was  about  to  appear.  A  noble  friendship  grew 
ap  between  two  souls,  bearing  in  different  spheres  an  equal 
talent  and  an  equal  freedom  of  poetic  flexibility.  M.  de  La- 
mennais  assumed  the  direction  of  "  Le  Monde"  and  in  this 
journal  George  Sand  published  those  five  letters  to  Marcia, 
which  bear  the  impress  of  a  purely  Christian  resignation,  and 
which  gave  the  lie  to  all  those  social  consequences  that 
philosophy  was  endeavoring  to  draw  from  the  individual  sor- 
rows of  Lelia. 


38  BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND. 


However,  this  period  of  Christian  resignation  was  but  short : 
the  adventurous  and  turbulent  poetess  had  merely  passed 
through  this  peaceful  country  on  her  way  to  join  the  camp  of 
pantheism.  Spiridion  was  published.  This  book,  composed 
under  the  refreshing  shades  of  Palma,  was  a  veritable  re- 
cantation, for  it  boldly  reproduced  in  the  religious  sphere  all 
the  moral  contradictions  of  Lelia.  The  edifice  scarcely  de- 
lineated in  the  letters  to  Marcia  was  utterly  overthrown,  and 
the  progressive  Christianity  of  M.  de  Lamennais  was  dropped 
as  impotent.  From  this  time  forward  the  social  ideas  of 
George  Sand  acquired  a  tinge  of  radicalism  which,  if  not  more 
perspicuous,  was  at  least  more  boldly  defined. 

Space  does  not  permit  us  to  follow  George  Sand  throughout 
all  her  works,  and  trace  therein  the  workings  and  the  progress 
of  her  mind :  to  do  this,  would  require  a  volume,  and  our 
sketch  is  limited  to  a  few  pages.  But  ere  we  close  this  hasty 
notice,  we  ought  perhaps  to  trace  the  portrait  of  this  most 
remarkable  woman,  and  for  this  purpose  we  will  translate 
from  a  sketch  published  some  few  years  since,  in  Paris.  "  I 
beheld."  says  the  author,  "  a  plump  little  woman,  in  no  re- 
spect resembling  the  Dantesque.  She  wore  a  simple  robe-de- 
chambre  of  a  somewhat  masculine  cut ;  her  beautiful  hair 
still  perfectly  black,  in  spite  of  slanderous  tongues,  parted 
upon  her  broad  and  polished  brow,  fell  gracefully  upon  her 
cheek,  as  in  the  portrait  of  Raphael ;  a  silk  handkerchief  was 
loosely  tied  about  her  neck  ;  her  eyes,  which  some  painters 
persist  in  representing  as  most  piercing,  had,  on  the  contrary, 
a  remarkable  expression  of  soft  melancholy ;  the  sound  of  her 
voice  was  melodious  and  subdued ;  her  mouth  was  singularly 
graceful,  and  in  her  every  attitude  there  was  a  striking 
character  of  simplicity,  of  nobleness,  and  of  calmness.  From 
the  breadth  of  the  temples,  and  from  the  rich  development  of 
the  brow,  Gall  would  have  devined  the  existence  of  genius. 
In  the  frankness  of  her  glance,  in  the  graceful  contour,  and 
in  the  pure  though  somewhat  weary  expression  of  the  face, 
Lavater  would  have  read  an  unfortunate  past,  a  barren  pre- 
sent, an  extreme  propensity  to  enthusiasm,  and,  consequently, 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND.  39 


to  discouragement  \  but  he  would  have  read  neither  instability, 
nor  bitterness,  nor  hatred,  for  of  them  there  was  no  trace  on 
this  face  at  once  so  sad  and  so  serene.  The  Leha  of  my 
imagination  disappeared  before  the  reality,  and  it  was  simply 
a  good,  sweet,  melancholy,  intelligent,  and  beautiful  face 
that  1  saw  before  me." 

At  present  George  Sand  passes  nearly  all  the  year  at  her 
chateau  of  Nohant.  Here  she  has  constructed  a  little  theatre 
where  her  plays  are  all  studied  and  tried,  act  by  act,  and 
scene  by  scene,  before  they  receive  the  honor  of  a  Parisian 
representation.  Her  life  in  this  retirement  is  most  pleasant, 
though  somewhat  patriarchal :  her  revenue,  amounting  to  ten 
or  twelve  thousand  francs  per  annum,  she  spends  in  deeds  of 
charity :  for  all  the  neighboring  villagers  she  has  ever  a  kindly 
word  of  welcome.  She  receives  them  at  her  table,  listens  to 
them,  encourages  and  consoles  them  in  their  troubles,  and  when 
they  are  ill  dispenses  to  them  medicines  for  themselves  and  for 
their  children.  To  her  they  apply  as  to  a  kind  Providence, 
ever  sure  of  aid  and  comfort. 

Her  house  is  by  no  means  a  lordly  mansion :  in  it  there 
reigns  an  almost  vulgar  simplicity,  and  the  furniture  bears 
witness  to  the  filial  piety  of  the  chatelaine,  rather  than  to 
her  taste  in  matters  of  ornament:  drawings,  sketches,  and 
needle-work,  souvenirs  of  the  happy  triumphs  of  a  petted 
childhood,  form  nearly  all  the  adornments  of  the  apartments — 
for  George  Sand  clings  to  all  that  recalls  to  her  the  love  of  her 
relations. 

She  sleeps  but  little,  five  or  six  hours  at  the  most :  the  rest 
of  her  time  being  consecrated  to  her  literary  labors.  At  eleven 
o'clock  the  bell  rings  for  breakfast.  She  does  not  appear  at 
first,  (in  her  absence  her  son  Maurice  presides,)  but  about  the 
middle  of  the  repast  she  enters,  embraces  her  son,  presses  the 
hand  of  each  guest,  and  takes  her  usual  seat.  Her  table  is 
sumptuously  and  delicately  provided.  She  eats  but  little,  and 
takes  cCxTee  morning  and  evening.    She  is  silent  and  reserved, 


40 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND 


but  she  loves  to  listen  to  the  conversation,  and  in  her  you  ever 
find  a  smiling  and  attentive  listener. 

After  breakfast  Madame  Sand  takes  the  arm  of  one  of  her 
guests,  and  goes  to  walk  in  the  park.  A  little  wood,  border- 
ing on  a  beautiful  meadow,  is  the  promenade  that  she  most 
loves,  and  here  in  the  midst  of  the  spring  flowers,  the  gay  but- 
terflies, and  the  singing  birds,  she  gives  herself  up  to  charming 
botanical  digressions,  which  her  guests  are  never  weary  of 
hearing :  but  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  she  returns  to  the 
house,  and  leaves  each  one  master  of  his  time  and  of  his 
actions. 

Dinner  is  served  at  six  o'clock.  The  blouses  and  other 
loose  morning  garments  are  not  here  admissible,  and  the  ladies 
appear  more  elaborately  attired  than  at  the  breakfast-table. 
We  do  not  mean  that  there  is  the  least  restraint,  or  that  a 
strict  decorum  is  observed  :  that  would  be  too  much  in  disac- 
cordanee  with  the  known  principles  of  the  chatelaine.  But  in 
the  house  of  the  grand-daughter  of  a  king,  of  the  cousin  of  Marie 
Antoinette,  we  must  not  be  astonished  to  find  some  vestiges 
of  aristocratic  manners.  After  dinner  comes  another  walk  in 
the  park,  singing  under  the  trees,  playing  with  the  dogs,  or 
some  rustic  game.  If  it  rains,  the  drawing-room  is  opened, 
Madame  Sand  places  herself  at  the  piano,  where  she  im- 
provises like  Listz,  her  friend  and  teacher,  or  executes  some 
of  Mozart's  choicest  gems.  Sometimes  she  gives  the  manu- 
script of  a  new  work,  a  romance,  or  a  comedy,  to  her  guests 
to  read,  and  such  days  are  always  looked  upon  as  holy-days. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  books  are  closed,  the  papers  are  laid 
aside,  and  all  join  eagerly  in  a  game  of  dominos.  This  finishes 
the  evening,  and  thus,  except  Sundays,  is  each  day  passed. 

But  on  Sundays  a  public  performance  is  given,  and  the  hall 
is  filled  with  a  crowd  of  honest  peasants,  whose  artless  joy  and 
candid  criticism  are  not  the  least  part  of  the  evening's  plea- 
sures. When  the  piece  is  over,  the  dining-room  is  thrown 
open,  and  the  audience  is  admitted  to  supper  with  the  per- 
formers, after  which  they  quietly  disperse. 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  GEORGE  SAND.  41 

Perchance  you  may  find  this  simple  and  unostentatious  life 
of  the  Chateau  de  Nohant  but  little  in  accordance  with  the 
idea  that  certain  of  her  brilliant  works  give  of  the  character 
of  her  who  inhabits  it.  If  so,  there  is  only  one  word  to  be 
said,  and  that  is,  if  George  Sand  writes  with  her  imagination, 
she  lives  according  to  her  judgment. 

One  word  now  as  to  the  influence  of  her  books,  and  we  have 
done.  This  influence  has  been  often  called  baneful  and  per- 
nicious ;  but  we  think  most  unjustly.  If  there  are  passions 
and  faults,  there  is,  too,  much  sorrow  and  remorse,  and  their 
tendency  is  by  no  means  vicious ;  they  may  torture  and  bewil- 
der our  souls,  but  they  do  not  degrade,  neither  do  they  corrupt. 
In  the  perusal  of  these  pages,  where  the  most  opposite  senti- 
ments speak  the  same  language,  a  language  almost  divine,  we 
feel  a  painful  kind  of  admiration,  and  when  we  close  the  book 
more  than  ever  do  we  aspire  to  the  truth  :  we  comprehend  that 
all  that  is  not  life,  that  the  imagination  is  not  the  reason,  and 
that  poets  will  always  be  poets,  that  is,  in  the  words  of  one 
of  the  greatest  and  wisest  of  their  number,  "  melodious  birds 
whom  every  noise  causes  to  sing."  Whether  this  noise  comes 
from  without  or  from  within,  whether  it  charms  or  terrifies, 
attracts  or  repulses,  whether  it  be  an  innate  desire  or  a  mur- 
muring brook,  a  nation  in  a  state  of  unrest,  or  the  roaring  of 
the  ocean,  a  falling  throne  or  a  fading  illusion,  the  bird  sings, 
sings  at  all  times,  in  all  places,  and  in  every  tone :  do  not  ask 
the  reason  of  its  song — it  sings'  because  it  is  a  bird.* 

*  In  the  preparation  of  this  sketch  we  have  had  recourse  to  the 
best  and  most  reliable  French  authorities,  translating  from  them 
freely  whatever  has  seemed  suited  to  our  purpose.  The  facts,  there- 
fore, may  be  relied  on  as  strictly  correct,  and  for  them  we  are  espe- 
cially indebted  to  the  brochure  of  M.  de  Mirecourt,  to  the  critical 
notice  of  "  Un  Homme  de  -Rzen,"  and  to  George  Sand's  autobiogra- 
phy now  in  course  of  publication  We  do  not  claim  any  originality 
for  our  sketch ;  we  have  simply  endeavored  to  give  a  true  idea  of 
the  character  of  the  distinguished  authoress,  making  the  best  use 
of  such  facts  as  the  short  time  allowed  us  for  preparation  has  ena- 
bled us  to  collect.  0.  S.  L. 


JEALOUSY. 


L 

COME  WHAT  MAY. 

Punctual  to  the  hour  of  rendezvous,  Le*once  left 
the  Hotel  des  Etrangevs  before  day-light,  and  the 
sun  had  not  jet  risen,  as  he  entered  the  winding 
and  shady  alley  leading  to  the  villa. 

The  light  wheels  of  his  beautiful  German  britz- 
ska  left  scarcely  an  impression  on  the  fine  white 
sand,  which,  covering  the  path,  deadened  the  re- 
sounding steps  of  his  superb  horses,  as  they  flew 
rapidly  over  the  ground.  A  profound  silence 
reigned  in  the  residence  of  the  elegant  lady,  and 
perceiving  no  indication  that  any  carriage  had  pre- 
ceded his  own,  he  feared  to  have  committed  the 
blunder  of  being  too  early. 

Alighting  in  front  of  a  rustic  porch,  over  which 

were  trained  beautiful,  flowering  vines,  he  directed 

his  servant  to  drive  to  the  stables,  and  then  ascer- 

(43) 


JEALOUSY. 


taining  that  the  glass  doors,  opening  from  the 
piazza  into  the  ordinary  reception-room,  were  still 
closed,  he  approached  the  window  of  Sabina's 
chamber,  and  hummed,  in  a  low  tone,  the  air  from 
the  Barbier, 

"  Ecco  ridente  il  cielo 
Gia  spunta  la  bella  aurora  . . . 
.  .  .  E  puvi  dormir  cosi  1 " 

Presently  the  window  was  opened,  and  Sabina5 
enveloped  in  a  houmous  of  white  cashmere,  raised 
a  corner  of  the  curtain,  and  addressing  him  with 
affectionate  nonchalance,  said : 

"  I  perceive,  my  friend,  that  my  note  of  last 
evening  has  not  reached  you,  and  that  you  are  un- 
aware of  what  has  happened.  The  Duchess  has 
the  vapors,  and  will  not  allow  her  lovers  to  drive 
out  without  her.  The  Marchioness  must  have  had 
a  family  quarrel,  for  she  sends  word  that  she  is  ill. 
The  Count  is  really  unwell.  The  Doctor  has  busi- 
ness. So  you  see  that  everybody  fails  me,  and 
begs  me  to  postpone  until  next  week  our  contem- 
plated excursion." 

"  Thus,  in  consequence  of  not  having  received 
your  intelligence,  I  arrive  most  mal  d  projpos" 
said  Leonce,  "  and  have  behaved  like  a  clown,  in 
coming  to  disturb  your  slumbers.    I  am  so  much 


JEALOUSY.  45 

annoyed  at  my  awkwardness,  as  to  find  not  a 
word  to  say  in  extenuation." 

"  Oh !  give  yourself  no  uneasiness  on  that 
score ;  I  have  been  awake  a  long  time.  The 
caprice  of  these  women  so  enraged  me  last  night 
that  I  threw  their  notes  into  the  fire,  and,  early  as 
it  was,  retired  to  bed,  and  slept  soundly.  I  am 
truly  glad  to  see  you.  I  was  just  longing  for 
some  one  with  whom  I  could  abuse  all  projects  of 
amusement,  country  parties,  men  of  the  world, 
and  handsome  women." 

"  You  will  abuse  them  alone,  then ;  for  at  this 
moment  I  bless  them  with  all  my  heart." 

And  Le*once,  inclining  over  the  edge  of  the  win- 
dow upon  which  Sabina  leaned,  was  tempted  to 
clasp  one  of  those  beautiful  while  hands — but  her 
quietly  bantering  manner  restrained  him,  and  he 
was  fain  to  content  himself  with  casting  a  most 
significant  glance  upon  her  lovely  arm,  left  par- 
tially uncovered  by  the  bournous. 

"  Le'once,"  said  she — gathering  up  the  folds  of 
the  bournous  with  a  disdainful  grace — "If  you 
pay  me  insipid  compliments,  I  shall  shut  the  win- 
dow in  your  face,  and  go  to  bed  again.  Nothing 
makes  me  so  sleepy  as  ennui.  It  has  for  a  long 
time  been  my  most  serious  trouble,  and  if  it  is  to 
continue,  I  believe  I  shall  finally  be  compelled  to 


46 


JEALOUSY. 


devote  all  my  energies  to  taking  care  of  my 
health  and  good  looks,  after  the  example  of  the 
Duchess.  But  listen :  call  up  all  your  amiability, 
and  apply  your  mind  to  the  task  of  entertaining 
me  with  your  usual  wit  and  good  taste.  Promise 
to  observe  my  conditions,  and  we  can  pass  the 
morning  more  agreeably,  teste-a-tete  together,  than 
in  the  midst  of  all  that  brilliant  society." 

"  With  all  my  heart !  Come  then  out  of  your 
sanctuary,  and  let  us  stroll  into  the  park,  to  see 
the  sun  rise." 

"  Oh,  the  Park !  It  is  beautiful,  I  admit;  but 
that  is  a  resource  I  wish  to  keep  for  the  days 
when  I  have  to  entertain  tiresome  visitors.  I 
show  my  guests  the  grounds,  and  take  a  great 
deal  of  quiet  enjoyment  by  myself,  while  appa- 
rently listening  to  their  stupid  conversation. 
Therefore,  I  wish  to  use  the  attractions  of  this 
residence  moderately,  lest  I  wear  them  out  too 
soon.  Do  you  know  that  I  regret  extremely  hav- 
ing hired  it  for  three  months.  I  have  been  only 
a  week  here,  yet  I  find  myself  already  tired  of 
both  the  country  and  the  neighborhood." 

"  Thank  you !    Shall  I  withdraw  ? " 

"Nonsense!  Why  feign  this  susceptibility  ?  You 
know  perfectly  well  that  you  are  not  included  in 
my  anathema  against  the  human  race.  We  are  old 


JEALOUSY.  47 

friends,  and  shall  always  remain  so,  I  trust,  if  we 
have  the  wisdom  to  persist  in  loving  each  other 
moderately,  as  you  have  promised  me." 

"  Yes,  the  old  proverb,  '  Love  little,  if  you  would 
love  long.'  But  see  here,  you  promise  me  a  plea- 
sant morning,  and  then  threaten  to  shut  your  win- 
dow at  the  first  word  I  utter  which  may  displease 
you.  Really,  I  do  not  find  my  position  particularly 
agreeable,  and  shall  only  breathe  at  my  ease,  when 
you  are  out  of  that  formidable  fortress." 

"  Well,  give  me  an  hour  for  my  toilet  arrange- 
ments ;  meantime,  your  breakfast  shall  be  served 
in  the  arbor.  I  will  come  and  take  a  cup  of  tea 
with  you,  and  then  we  can  invent  some  cheerful 
amusement,  wherewith  to  beguile  the  morning." 

"  First  listen  to  my  proposition,  Sabina.  Leave 
to  me  alone  all  the  morning  arrangements,  for  if 
you  have  anything  to  do  with  them,  we  shall  pass 
the  day,  I,  in  proposing  all  sorts  of  amusements, 
and  you,  in  proving  to  me  that  each  plan  is  more 
stupid  and  tiresome  than  the  others.  Have  faith 
in  my  inventive  genius ;  take  half  an  hour  for  your 
toilet,  postpone  the  breakfast,  and  then,  let  me 
lead  you  where  I  choose." 

"  Ah  !  you  touch  the  magic  chord,  the  Unknown ! 
I  see,  Leonce,  that  you  alone  understand  me.  Well, 
I  accept.    Let  us  go  I" 


48 


JEALOUSY. 


Lady  G  pronounced  these  last  words  with  a 

smile  and  a  glance  which  made  Leonce  tremhle. 

"  Oh  !  coldest  of  women  !"  he  cried,  in  a  tone  of 
mingled  raillery  and  bitterness.  "  I  know  you  well, 
and  know  that  your  ruling  passion  is  to  escape  in- 
deed all  human  passions.  Well,  I  yield  to  your 
coldness,  and  banish  from  my  memory  all  that 
might  distract  me  from  this  fantasy  which  we  have 
arranged  together." 

"  You  assure  me,  then,  that  I  shall  not  expe- 
rience ennui  to-day  while  with  you  ?  You  are  in- 
deed, the  best  of  men.  I  feel  already  the  effect 
of  your  promise,  just  as  invalids  feel  their  suffer- 
ings mitigated  by  the  sight  of  a  physician,  and  are 
cured  in  advance,  by  the  certainty  that  he  intends 
to  cure  them.  I  obey  you,  then,  doctor  improvise*, 
skilful,  admirable  doctor.  I  will  dress  quickly,  let 
us  set  out  before  breakfast,  and  then  go — wherever 
you  direct.    "What  carriage  shall  I  order  ?" 

"  None.  You  are  to  interfere  in  nothing — you 
are  to  know  nothing.  It  is  for  me  to  provide  and 
direct,  since  it  is  I  who  invent." 

"  Ah !  that  is  something  like  !  That  is  charm- 
ing," cried  she ;  and,  shutting  her  window,  she  rang 
for  her  maid,  who  lowered  the  heavy  damask  cur- 
tain between  her  and  Leonce.  He  went  away  to 
give  some*  orders,  then  returning,  he  threw  him- 


JEALOUSY.  49 

self  down  on  the  ground,  at  the  foot  of  a  statue, 
not  far  from  Sabina's  window,  and  was  soon  lost 
in  a  revery. 

"  Is  this  the  way  you  prepare  for  our  departure  ? 
You  promise  me  marvellous  inventions,  unheard 
of  surprises,  and  there  you  are,  dreaming  over  the 
statue,  like  a  man  without  an  idea." 

"  All  is  ready,"  said  Leonce,  rising  and  passing 
Sabina's  arm  within  his  own.  "  My  britzska  awaits 
you,  and  I  have  hit  upon  some  admirable  inven- 
tions." 

"  Are  we  going  tete4-tete?"  observed  Lady  G — . 

"  That  is  a  coquettish  movement  of  which  I  did 
not  believe  her  capable,"  thought  Leonce.  "  Well, 
I  shall  not  take  advantage  of  it." 

"  We  will  take  the  negress,"  he  replied. 

"  Why  take  the  negress  ?"  said  Sabina. 

"  Because  my  jockey  likes  her.  At  his  age,  all 
women  are  white,  and  it  is  important  that  our  tra- 
velling companions  should  be  pleased  with  each 
other,  otherwise  they  will  be  troublesome  to  us." 

In  an  instant,  the  jockey  had  received  his  in- 
structions, unperceived  by  Sabina.  The  negress, 
armed  with  a  large  white  parasol,  her  face  radiant 
with  smiles,  was  seated  on  the  front  seat  with  the 
jockey.  Lady  G  reclined  listlessly  on  the  back 

seat  of  the  britzska,  and  Leonce,  placed  respectfully 
3 


50  JEALOUSY. 

opposite,  silently  regarded  the  country  through 
which  they  were  flying  with  the  speed  of  the  wind. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Sabina  had  ventured 
on  so  long  and  uninterrupted  a  te>te-&-tete  with 
Le*once  as  this  promised  to  be,  and  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, she  was  embarrassed.  True,  she  had  mere- 
ly gone  out  to  ride  with  L£once ;  moreover,  the 
presence  of  the  two  young  domestics,  (who,  by  the 
way,  with  their  backs  to  the  lady  and  gentleman, 
were  too  well  pleased  with  each  other,  to  occupy 
themselves  with  any  one  else)  gave  an  air  of  pro- 
priety to  the  adventure.  Yet  she  felt  that  she  was 
too  young  for  it  to  be  viewed  from  the  world's  point 
of  view  in  any  other  light  than  that  of  an  indis- 
cretion. 

But  Leonce  seemed  so  little  disposed  to  profit  by 
his  good  fortune,  he  was  so  serious,  and  so  absorbed 
by  the  splendors  of  the  rising  sun,  just  then  gilding 
the  edge  of  the  horizon,  that  she  dared  not  show 
any  embarrassment ;  on  the  contrary,  she  endea- 
vored to  conceal  it,  and  appear  as  tranquil  as  he. 

They  followed  a  steep  road,  whence  could  be 
seen  the  whole  extent  of  the  surrounding  valley, 
the  course  of  the  torrents,  the  summits  of  moun- 
tains covered  with  eternal  snow,  beautifully  tinted 
by  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun,  in  hues  of  purple  and 
gold. 


JEALOUSY.  51 

u  Sublime  !"  said  Sabina  at  last,  in  reply  to  an 
exclamation  from  Le*once.  "  But  do  you  know, 
apropos  of  the  sun,  that  in  spite  of  myself,  I  am  at 
this  moment  thinking  of  my  husband.'* 

"  Apropos,  indeed !"  said  Leonce,  "  where  is  he  ?" 

"At  the  villa,  asleep." 

"  Does  he  wake  early?" 

"  That  depends  on  circumstances.    Lord  G  

is  more  or  less  matutinal  in  his  habits,  according 
to  the  quantity  of  wine  he  drinks  at  supper.  And 
how  can  I  know  anything  about  that,  compelled 
as  I  am  to  submit  to  that  barbarous  English  cus- 
tom, which  seems  to  have  been  expressly  invented 
to  prevent  wives  from  moderating  the  intempe- 
rance of  their  husbands." 

" But  what  is  his  average  hour?" 

"  Noon.  We  shall  be  at  home  before  that,  shall 
we  not?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  madam.  That  does  not  depend 
on  your  will." 

"  Really,  it  is  very  agreeable  to  hear  you  joke 
thus.  It  gratifies  my  thirst  for  the  unknown.  But 
seriously,  Leonce  ?" 

"  Very  seriously,  Sabina.  I  don't  know  at  what 
hour  you  will  return.  Tou  have  authorized  me  to 
regulate  the  employment  of  your  day." 

"  Not  at  all.    Of  the  morning  only." 


52  JEALOUSY. 

"  Pardon  me.  You  have  not  limited  the  period 
of  our  excursion;  and  as  regards  my  projects,  I 
shall  only  waive  the  right  of  invention  when  in- 
spiration fails  me.  If  you  put  a  curb  to  my  genius, 
I  will  no  longer  be  responsible  for  anything." 

" That  is  to  say?" 

"I  will  abandon  you  to  your  mortal  enemy, 
ennui." 

"  What  tyranny !  But  if  by  a  strange  chance, 
Lord  G  should  have  been  sober  last  night  ?" 

"  Who  were  his  companions  at  supper  ? " 

"  Lord  H  ,  M.  D  ,  Sir  I  ;  in  short, 

half  a  dozen  of  his  dear  fellow  countrymen." 

"  In  that  case,  give  yourself  no  uneasiness.  He 
will  sleep  until  night." 

"  But,  if  you  should  be  deceived  % " 

"Ah,  Madam,  if  you  already  mistrust  Provi- 
dence ;  that  is  to  say,  if  you  mistrust  me,  who 
watch  over  your  destiny  to-day  in  the  place  of 
Providence;  if  you  have  no  faith,  but  look 
behind  and  before,  the  present  moment  escapes 
us,  and  with  it  all  my  power." 

"  You  are  right,  Ldonce.    I  destroy  my  imagi- 
nation by  these  memories  of  real  life." 
'"First  of  all,  he  is  not  jealous  of  me." 

"  He  is  jealous  of  no  one.  But  his  sense  of 
propriety — his  British  prudery !  " 


i 


JEALOUSY. 


53 


"  What  is  the  worst  he  will  do  ? " 

"  He  will  curse  the  day  on  which  he  took  it 
into  his  head  to  espouse  a  French  woman,  and  for 
three  hours,  at  least,  will  occupy  himself  with 
extolling  the  charms  of  the  great  English  dolls. 
He  will  murmur  between  his  teeth  that  England 
is  the  first  nation  in  the  universe — that  our  coun- 
try is  a  lunatic  asylum — that  Lord  Wellington  is 
superior  to  Napoleon,  and  that  the  London  docks 
are  better  built  than  the  palaces  of  Yenice." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  Pray  is  not  that  enough  ?  To  be  compelled 
to  hear  him  say  such  things,  without  ridiculing  or 
contradicting  him  ?" 

"And  what  is  the  consequence,  if  you  break 
this  disdainful  silence  ? " 

"  He  sups  with  Lord  H  ,  Sir  I  ,  and  M. 

D  ;  after  which  he  sleeps  twenty-four  hours." 

u  Did  you  provoke  him  yesterday  ? " 

"Dreadfully.  I  told  him  that  his  English  horse 
was  a  stupid  beast." 

"  Be  easy  then.  He  will  sleep  until  this 
evening." 

"  You  answer  for  it  ? " 

"I  order  it." 

"That  is  glorious!  Huzza!  May  his  soul 
repose  in  peace,  and  may  marriage  weigh  lightly 


54  JEALOUSY. 

on  his  slumbers.  Do  you  know,  Leonce,  that  1 
find  it  a  fearful  yoke,  this  marriage  ? " 

"  Yes,  some  husbands  beat  their  wives." 

"  That  is  nothing.  Others  kill  them  with 
ennui." 

"  Is  that,  then,  the  cause  of  your  spleen  ?  I 
think  not,  milady." 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  address  me  as  milady.  It 
always  makes  me  fancy  myself  an  English 
woman.  It  is  bad  enough  to  have  them  try  to 
persuade  me  when  I  am  in  England,  that  my  hus- 
band has  denationalized  me." 

"  But  you  do  not  reply  to  my  question, 
Sabina?" 

"And  what  can  I  reply?  Do  I  know  the 
cause  of  my  unhappiness  ? " 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  ? " 

"  You  have  already  told  it  to  me  a  hundred 
times — it  is  useless  to  renew  the  subject." 

"Your  pardon,  madam.  You  regard  me  as  a 
skilful,  admirable  doctor — you  have  invested  me 
with  the  right  to  cure  you,  though  the  cure  last 
but  for  one  day  " 

"  Oh  !  To  cure  me  by  amusing  me — and  what 
fou  are  going  to  say  will,  I  know,  weary  me." 

"  Useless  evasion  of  a  modesty  which  a  tender 


JEALOUSY.  55 

lover  would  doubtless  find  charming  :  your  grave 
doctor,  however,  thinks  it  superlatively  childish." 

"  Well.  If  you  are  severe  and  brutal,  I  shall 
like  you  better.    Speak  on,  then." 

"  The  absence  of  love  exasperates  you.  Your 
ennui  is  an  impatience,  not  a  disgust  of  life. 
Your  exaggerated  pride  betrays  an  incredible 
weakness.    You  must  love,  Sabina." 

"  You  speak  of  loving  as  you  would  speak  of 
drinking  a  glass  of  water.  Is  it  my  fault  that  no 
one  pleases  me  I " 

"  Yes,  it  is  your  fault.  Your  mind  has  taken  a 
false  turn — your  temper  has  become  soured — you 
have  pampered  your  self-love ;  and,  consequently, 
you  estimate  yourself  so  high,  that  nobody  seems 
worthy  of  you.  Yery  rude  in  me  to  say  these 
things,  is  it  not  ?  Do  you  prefer  insipid  compli- 
ments ? " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  find  you  perfectly  charm- 
ing to-day,"  replied  Lady  G  ,  with  a  laugh — 

notwithstanding  which,  a  faint  flush  of  anger 
passed  over  her  beautiful  countenance.  "  Permit 
me,  however,  to  offer  a  word  in  my  own  justifica- 
tion, and  then  show  me  one  human  being  who 
blames  me.  I  find  all  the  men  by  whom  I  am 
surrounded,  either  vain  and  stupid,  or  intellectual 
and  cold.    I  pity  the  former,  I  fear  the  latter." 


56  JEALOUSY. 

"  You  are  not  to  blame.  But  why  not  seek 
beyond  the  world  ? " 

"  And  can  a  woman  seek  ?    For  shame !  " 

"  But  she  may  sometimes  travel,  may  encoun- 
ter a  friend  unexpectedly,  and  then  she  must  not 
always  fly  away." 

"  No,  we  cannot  go  out  of  the  world.  The 
world  follows  us  everywhere,  when  we  are  in  the 
great  world.  And  then,  what  is  there  beyond  the 
world?  There  are  the  bourgeoisie,  vulgar  and 
insolent — the  people,  brutalized  and  filthy — artists, 
ambitious  and  profoundly  egotistical.  All  these 
are  no  better  than  we,  Leonce.  Moreover,  to  be 
entirely  candid  with  you,  I  must  confess  that  I 
believe  a  little  in  the  superiority  of  our  patrician 
blood.  If  all  is  not  degenerated  and  corrupt  in 
the  human  race,  it  is  there,  only,  we  can  hope  to 
find  elevated  types  and  refined  natures.  I  do  not 
deny  the  possibility  of  transformations  in  the 
future,  but,  up  to  the  present  time,  I  see  the 
stamp  of  vassalage  on  the  foreheads  of  the 
recently  enfranchised.  I  neither  hate  nor  despise, 
still  less  do  I  fear  this  race,  that  comes,  we  are 
told,  to  turn  us  out,  and  take  our  places.  It  may 
be  so.  I  acquiesce.  I  might  have  esteem,  respect 
and  friendship  for  certain  plebeians — but  my  love 
is  a  delicate  flower,  that  will  not  flourish  in  every 


JEALOUSY.  57 

soil.  I  have  the  nerves  of  a  marchioness,  and 
cannot  change  or  control  them.  The  more  I 
incline  to  accept  the  idea  of  future  equality,  the 
less  do  I  feel  myself  capable  of  accepting  that 
which  inequality  has  defiled  in  the  past.  That  is 
my  theory,  Leonce,  and,  certainly,  you  have  no 
right  to  preach  to  me.  Would  you  have  me 
become  a  4  Sister  of  Charity  ? '  I  ask  nothing  bet- 
ter than  to  overcome  my  fastidiousness,  for  the 
very  sake  of  charity  ;  but  shall  I  seek  the  happi- 
ness of  my  soul  where  I  see  no  other  prospect 
than  a  life  of  penitence  and  sacrifice  ? " 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  preach  to  you,  Sabina;  I  am 
neither  better  nor  worse  than  you ;  only  I  believe 
that  my  instincts  are  warmer  than  yours,  and  that 
I  have  a  more  ardent  faith  in  the  true  dignity  of 
man,  and  this  ardor  was  born  in  me  the  day  on 
which  I  found  myself  an  artist.  Since  that  day, 
the  human  race  has  appeared  to  me,  not  divided 
into  castes,  but  disseminated  over  the  earth,  the 
superior  types  by  themselves.  I  believe  that  no 
habit  can  have  so  great  an  influence  over  the  soul, 
can  be  so  destructive  of  the  Divine  Power,  as  to  be 
able  to  brand  forever  the  posterity  of  slaves.  If 
God  pleases  that  the  Fornarina  should  be  beauti- 
ful, and  that  Raphael  should  have  genius,  they  love 
each  other,  without  demanding  the  name  of  their 


58 


JEALOUSY. 


ancestors.  Beauty  of  soul  and  body!  Behold 
there  what  is  noble  and  respectable.  The  flower 
of  the  eglantine  is  none  the  less  fragrant  and  charm- 
ing, because  plucked  from  a  brier." 

"  Yes,  but  in  order  to  inhale  its  sweet  perfume, 
one  must  run  the  risk  of  being  torn  to  pieces  by 
the  savage  bushes ;  and  then,  Leonce,  you  and  I 
cannot  see  the  same  ideal  beauty.  You  are  a  man 
and  an  artist ;  that  is  to  say,  you  have  a  perception 
of  form,  at  once  more  material  and  exalted  than  I. 
Your  art  is  materialistic.  It  is  the  divine  Raphael, 
enamored  of  the  robust  Fornarina.  "Well,  yes! 
Titian's  mistress  also  appears  to  me  as  a  beautiful, 
gross,  sensual  woman,  not  in  the  least  ideal.  Now, 

we  patricians,  we  do  not  conceive   But,  good 

heavens!  here  comes  an  equipage,  which  looks 
very  much  like  that  of  the  marchioness." 

"  And  it  is  she  herself  with  the  young  doctor." 

"  Look,  Leonce,  there  is  a  woman  more  easily 
satisfied  fhan  I.  We  are  about  to  surprise  an  in- 
trigue. She  represented  herself  as  an  invalid,  and 
behold  her,  riding  out  with — " 

"  With  her  physician,  and  you  with  yours,  madam. 
She  amuses  herself  according  to  prescription." 

"  Yes,  but  you  are  only  the  physician  of  my 
soul." 

"You  are  cruel,  Sabina.   How  do  you  know 


JEALOUSY.  59 

that  this  fine  young  man  does  not  rather  address 
himself  to  her  heart  than  to  her  senses?  And  if 
she  should  think  as  badly  of  you,  would  she  not  be 
profoundly  unjust  ?  For  I,  although  tete-a-tete  with 
you,  neither  address  you  heart  nor — " 

"  Just  heavens,  Leonce  !  You  make  me  think 
of  my  own  position.  She  is  malicious,  and  has 
great  need  to  justify  herself  by  the  example  of 
others — we  shall  meet  her — she  possesses  great  as- 
surance ;  instead  of  concealing  herself,  she  will  ob- 
serve us,  will  recognize  me  —  perhaps  she  has 
already  done  so." 

"  No,  Madam,"  replied  Leonce,  "  your  veil  is 
down,  and  she  is  yet  at  some  distance;  besides — 
turn  to  the  left,  the  road  to  St.  Apollinaire  I"  call- 
ing to  the  jockey,  who  acted  as  coachman,  and 
drove  with  great  skill. 

The  britzska  plunged  immediately  into  a  narrow 
road,  where  it  was  screened  from  observation,  and 
in  a  few  moments,  the  caliche  of  the  marchioness 
flew  along  on  the  highway. 

"  You  see  now,  madam,"  said  Leonce,  "  that  Pro- 
vidence watches  over  you  to-day,  and  that  it  is 
incarnated  in  me.  It  is  often  necessary  to  travel 
a  long  distance  among  these  mountains,  in  order 
to  find  a  road  fit  for  carriages,  and  here  is  one 


60  JEALOUSY. 

opened  as  if  by  miracle,  at  the  moment  your  con- 
venience makes  it  desirable." 

"  Beally,  this  is  so  marvellous,"  smilingly  replied 

Lady  G  ,  "  that  I  am  compelled  to  attribute  it 

to  a  stroke  of  your  magic  wand.  Oh !  what  a  de- 
licious enchantment!  What  beautiful  flowering 
hedges !  What  rich  foliage  !  And  how  astonish- 
ing it  is,  that  you  should  have  thought  of  every 
thing,  even  to  supplying  us  with  cool  shade  and 
flowers,  of  which  we  were  sadly  in  want  on  the 
highway.  These  centennial  chestnut  trees,  which 
you  have  planted,  are  truly  magnificent.  There  is 
no  disputing  the  fact,  Leonce,  that  you  are  a  great 
artist,  and  do  your  work  thoroughly." 

"  It  is  very  pleasant  to  hear  you  say  these  charm 
mg  things,  Sabina,  but  you  are  pale  as  death. 
How  dreadfully  afraid  you  are  of  public  opinion. 
This  adventure,  and  the  consequent  danger  of  sus- 
picion, has  filled  your  heart  with  terror.  I  never 
should  have  suspected  that  a  woman  as  strong  and 
as  proud  as  you  are,  could  be  at  the  same  time,  so 
timid." 

"  The  world  says  that  it  is  only  in  the  country 
that  we  learn  to  know  each  other.  For  the  word 
*  country,'  substitute  tete-a-tete,  and  you  have  the 
idea.  Thus,  Le'once,  we  shall  reveal  to  each  other 
this  morning,  many  imperfections  as  well  as  vir- 


JEALOUSY.  61 

tues,  of  which  we  have  hitherto  remained  ignorant. 
My  timidity,  for  instance,  is  either  a  virtue  or  a 
weakness.    I  don't  know  which." 

"  It  is  a  weakness." 

"  And  you  despise  it?" 

"  I  shall  censure  it,  perhaps.  I  shall  find  in  it 
an  explanation  of  that  extreme  refinement  of  taste 
and  that  habit  of  exquisite  disdain,  of  which  you 
were  just  now  speaking.  You,  perhaps,  do  not 
know  yourself  so  thoroughly  as  you  imagine  you 
do.  It  is  possible  that  you  too  often  attribute  to 
the  exaggerated  delicacy  of  your  aristocratic  per- 
ception, what  is  in  reality,  only  the  fear  of  raillery 
and  censure  from  your  equals." 

"My  equals  are  yours  also,  Ldonce;  are  you, 
then,  entirely  indifferent  to  the  opinions  of  others? 
Would  you  have  me  make  a  choice  for  which  I 
should  be  compelled  to  blush?  That  would  be 
singular." 

"  It  would  indeed  be  too  singular,  and  I  do  not 
dream  of  such  a  thing.  But  a  more  decided,  cou- 
rageous independence  would  be,  I  think,  a  most  in- 
valuable resource  for  you,  and  I  see  that  you  lack 
it.  There  is  no  question  here  of  choice,  neither  in 
one  sphere  nor  in  another.  I  only  say  that  in  gen- 
eral, whatever  choice  you  may  make,  you  will  be 
more  occupied  with  the  opinions  of  the  world,  than 


62  JEALOUSY. 

with  the  happiness  you  are  personally  to  derive 
from  it." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it ;  and  now,  Le'once,  you  are 
going  beyond  the  limits  of  plain  truth.  This  is 
malicious  teasing;  a  system  of  ill-natured  accusa- 
tions." 

"  See  now,  we  are  beginning  to  quarrel,"  said 
Le'once.  "  All  will  go  well,  if  I  succeed  in  irritat- 
ing you  against  me.  I  shall  have  at  least  dispelled 
your  ennui." 

"  If  the  marchioness  could  hear  our  conversation," 
said  Sabina,  resuming  her  gaiety,  "  I  think  she 
would  scarcely  find  anything  to  carp  at." 

"  But  as  she  does  not  hear  it,  and  as  it  is  possi- 
ble we  may  meet  other  parties,  it  is  best  perhaps 
to  break  our  tete-a-tete,  and  surround  ourselves 
with  some  travelling  companions." 

"And  is  it  your  turn  to  be  out  of  humor,  Le'once?" 

"  By  no  means  ;  but  it  is  a  part  of  my  plan  that 
you  should  be  provided  with  a  chaperon  more  re- 
spectable than  L  Here  he  is  coming  to  meet  me. 
Destiny  or  my  magic  power  leads  him  hither." 

Obedient  to  a  sign  from  his  master,  the  jockey 
checked  his  horses.  Le'once  leaped  lightly  to  the 
ground,  and  ran  forward  to  meet  the  Cure'  of  St. 
Apollinaire,  who,  with  a  breviary  in  his  hand,  was 
slowly  approacing  the  entrance  of  the  village. 


JEALOUSY. 


63 


n. 

HAPPEN  WHAT  WILL. 

"  Monsieur  Le  Cuke,"  said  Leonce,  "  I  sincerely 
regret  the  necessity  which  compels  me  to  break  in 
upon  your  studies,  knowing  full  well  as  I  do,  that 
when  a  priest  is  interrupted  in  reading  his  brevi- 
ary, he  is  obliged  to  begin  it  again,  even  though 
he  were  at  the  last  page.  I  observe,  however,  that 
you  are  fortunately  only  at  the  second,  and  as  the 
motive  which  leads  me  to  you,  is  of  great  urgency, 
I  trust  your  charitable  heart  will  kindly  excuse  the 
indiscretion." 

The  Cure'  sighed,  closed  his  breviary,  took  off  his 
spectacles,  and,  turning  upon  Leonce  a  pair  of  large 
blue  eyes,  not  devoid  of  intelligence — "  To  whom 
have  I  the  honor  of  speaking  ?"  said  he. 

"To  an  honorable  and  sincere  young  man," 
gravely  replied  Lionel,  "  who  comes  to  submit  to 
your  judgment,  a  very  delicate  question.  This 
morning,  I  very  innocently  persuaded  the  young 
lady  whom  you  perceive  in  the  open  carriage,  just 


64 


JEALOUSY. 


below  there,  to  ride  out  with  me  among  your  beau- 
tiful mountains.  We  are  both  strangers  to  the 
usages  of  the  country;  our  sentiments  for  each 
other  are  those  of  a  fraternal  friendship ;  the  Jady 
merits  all  consideration  and  respect ;  but  a  scruple 
concerning  the  propriety  of  her  situation  has  en- 
tered her  head  on  the  road  hither,  and  I  deem  it 
my  duty  to  acquiesce.  She  says  that  her  driving 
about  the  country,  alone  with  a  young  man,  may 
possibly  excite  the  curiosity  of  its  inhabitants,  and 
the  fear  of  being  the  cause  of  scandal,  has  become 
so  strong  in  her  mind,  as  to  make  me  regard  the 
happy  accident  of  meeting  you,  in  the  light  of  a 
Providential  occurrence.  I  have  therefore  decided 
to  solicit  the  favor  of  your  society,  while  we  pro- 
long our  ride  for  an  hour  or  two,  or  at  least,  while 
I  reconduct  her  to  her  residence.  You  are  so  good, 
that  you  would  not  certainly  deprive  an  amiable 
lady  of  a  pleasure  truly  edifying,  for  the  soul  never 
more  earnestly  glorifies  the  Eternal,  than  when 
contemplating  his  work,  beautiful  nature." 

"  But  sir,"  said  the  Curd,  evincing  a  little  distrust, 
and  attentively  regarding  the  carriage,  "  you  are 
not  alone ;  you  have  two  other  persons  with  you." 

"  These  are  domestics,  whom  an  instinctive  sen- 
timent of  propriety  induced  us  to  bring  along." 

"  Well,  then,  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should 


JEALOUSY. 


65 


fear  slanderous  tongues.  One  is  not  apt  to  behave 
very  improperly  before  domestics." 

"  The  presence  of  domestics  counts  for  nothing 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world." 

"  That  shows  too  much  contempt  for  those  who 
are  our  brothers." 

"  You  speak  justly,  Monsieur  Curd,  and  I  am  of 
your  opinion.  But  you  will  agree  with  me,  that, 
placed  as  they  are  upon  the  front  seat  of  the  car- 
riage, I  might  easily  hold  too  tender  a  conversation 
with  this  lady,  might  kiss  her  hand  by  stealth — " 

The  Card  gave  a  start  as  though  he  were  shocked, 
but  this  was  merely  for  form's  sake.  His  counte- 
nance betrayed  no  emotion  whatever.  He  had 
passed  the  age  in  which  burning  thoughts  torment 
the  priest.  Or,  very  possibly,  he  had  never  carried 
his  abstemiousness  to  the  point  of  hating  life  and 
condemning  happiness.  Leonce  was  amused  to  see 
how  puerile  and  frivolous  his  pretended  scruples 
appeared  to  the  good  man. 

"  If  that  is  all,"  resumed  the  Curd,  you  can  place 
the  negress  in  the  carriage  between  you  and  milady. 
Her  presence  will  surely  put  to  flight  the  demon 
of  scandal." 

"  Such  an  arrangement  is  not  according  to  cus- 
tom," said  the  young  man,  embarrassed  by  the 

judgment  of  the  old  priest.    "  It  would  appear 
4 


66  JEALOUSY. 

affected.  The  malicious  would  say  the  danger 
must  be  great  indeed,  since  they  are  forced  to  put 
an  ugly  negress  between  them.  Now,  in  place  of 
this,  the  presence  of  a  priest  sanctifies  everything. 
A  worthy  pastor  like  you  is  the  natural  friend  of 
the  faithful,  and  everybody  must  easily  compre- 
hend why  we  should  seek  your  society." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  my  dear  sir,  and  I  should 
ask  nothing  better  than  to  oblige  you,"  replied  the 
Cure*,  upon  whose  unsuspicious  nature  flattery  was 
gradually  producing  its  effect.  "  But  I  have  not 
yet  offered  mass,  and '  the  bell  is  just  ringing. 
Wait  twenty  minutes,  or  rather,  come  and  attend 
mass  with  me.  It  is  not  obligatory  upon  you 
during  the  week,  but  it  can  do  you  no  harm : 
afterwards,  permit  me  to  take  my  breakfast,  and 
then  I  will  be  at  your  service." 

"  We  will  attend  mass,"  replied  Leonce  ;  "  but 
immediately  after  it  is  finished,  we  propose  to 
carry  you  off  to  breakfast  with  us  in  the  woods." 

"  Then  you  will  get  a  very  poor  breakfast," 
hastily  observed  the  Cure' — to  whom  this  proposi- 
tion appeared  of  more  serious  consequence  than 
any  before  made.  "  You  will  find  nothing  to 
tempt  the  appetite  in  this  country,  which  is  as 
poor  as  it  is  picturesque." 

"  We  have  some  substantial  provisions  and 


JEALOUSY.  67 
excellent  wine  in  the  carriage  box,"  returned 
Leonce.  "  We  had  made  an  appointment  with 
several  friends  for  a  pic-nic  excursion  to-day,  and 
each  one  was  to  contribute  a  portion  of  the  feast. 
All,  however,  have  failed  in  their  engagement  but 
I ;  and,  therefore,  I  find  myself  sufficiently  well 
provided  with  food  for  our  small  party." 

"  Yery  good,"  said  the  Cure,  quite  decided.  "I 
see  the  prospect  of  a  pleasant  excursion,  and  that 
if  I  do  not  join  your  party  you  will  be  troubled 
and  embarrassed  by  this  dangerous  tete-a-tete.  I 
do  not  wish  to  mar  the  anticipated  pleasure,  and 
will,  therefore,  go  with  you,  provided  it  is  not  too 
far ;  for  I  have  a  great  deal  of  business  to  occupy 
me  at  home,  and  cannot  spare  much  time.  It 
pleases  one  to  be  born  and  another  to  die ;  and 
every  day  these  duties  are  to  be  done  over  again. 
Now  then,  go  and  inform  your  lady,  while  I  pro- 
ceed to  the  church." 

"  Oh !  here  you  come  at  last  1 "  exclaimed 
Sabina — who,  while  waiting  the  return  of  Le*once, 
had  taken  a  book  from  the  pocket  of  the  carriage, 
entitled  "  Wilhelm  Meister"  —  "I  thought  you 
had  forgotten  me,  and  I  was  consoling  myself 
with  this  delightful  story." 

"  It  was  brought  expressly  for  you,"  said  Le'once. 


68 


JEALOUSY. 


"  I  knew  you  had  not  yet  read  it,  and  it  is  just 
the  sort  of  reading  to  interest  you  for  the  time." 

"  Your  attentions  are  really  charming.  But 
what  are  we  to  do  now  ?" 

"  We  are  going  to  mass." 

"  What  a  strange  idea  !  Is  it  in  looking  after  the 
salvation  of  my  soul  that  you  expect  to  amuse  me  ?" 

"  You  are  prohibited  from  scrutinizing  my 
thoughts  or  divining  my  intentions.  From  the 
moment  you  are  able  to  divine  all  that  is  passing 
in  my  brain,  in  reference  to  your  at  present 
unknown  future,  my  power  will  cease,  and  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  finish  what  I  have  undertaken." 

"  That  is  true.  Let  us  go  to  mass,  then.  But 
what  are  you  going  to  do  with  this  Cure*  ? " 

"  What !  more  questions — when  you  know  that 
the  oracle  should  be  dumb  ?" 

"  Your  oddities  begin  to  interest  me.  And 
am  I  not  to  be  permitted  even  to  try  to  com- 
prehend ?" 

"  Certainly  you  are.  I  run  no  risk  of  being 
found  out." 

The  britzska  traversed  the  hamlet,  and  stopped 
before  the  rustic  church.  Ordinarily,  the  celebra- 
tion of  mass,  on  week  days,  was  very  thinly 
attended,  but  this  morning  the  church  was  filled 
with  women  and  children,  attracted  thither  by 


JEALOUSY.  69 

the  presence  of  the  two  noble  travellers.  The 
greater  number,  however,  soon  came  out  again 
under  the  porch,  to  admire  the  horses,  touch  the 
carriage,  and  particularly  to  look  at  the  negress, 
whom  they  regarded  with  a  mixture  of  astonish- 
ment, terror,  and  contempt. 

The  sacristan  conducted  Sabina  and  Leonce  to 
the  seat  of  honor,  which,  by  the  way,  they  were 
not  long  compelled  to  occupy;  for  the  keen  and 
invigorating  air  of  the  mountains  had  so  stimu- 
lated the  Cure's  appetite  as  to  cause  him  to  make 
unusual  haste  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty. 

Lady  G         picked  up  a  respectable  looking 

missal  from  the  midst  of  a  number  of  old  books 
of  devotion  scattered  over  the  prie-Dieu.  She 
appeared  wholly  intent  on  the  service,  but  Leonce 
presently  observed  that  she  held  Wilhelm  Messier, 
concealed  beneath  her  shawl,  and  that  she  gradu- 
ally slipped  it  over  the  missal  before  her,  and  was 
entirely  absorbed  in  reading  it,  during  the  whole 
of  the  confiteor. 

Kneeling  at  her  side,  he  whispered  in  her  ear, 
"I  would  pledge  my  word  that  this  simple  pastoi 
and  these  good  people  are  greatly  edified  by  youi 
piety,  Sabina !  But  it  is  very  evident  to  me,  that 
you  respect  only  the  externals  of  a  religion  in 
which  you  no  longer  believe." 


70 


JEALOUSY. 


She  replied  only  by  pointing  with  her  finger  to 
the  word  pedant,  which  is  often  made  use  of  in 
Wilhelm  Meister,  in  reference  to  one  of  the  mem- 
bers of  a  troop  of  vagabonds. 

"You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  am  not  a 
bigot,"  said  she,  resuming  the  conversation,  as 
after  the  conclusion  of  the  service  they  strolled 
leisurely  down  the  nave,  on  the  sides  of  which, 
were  a  number  of  small  chapels.  "  I  have  the 
religion  of  my  time." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  have  none  at  all." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  that  no  epoch  has 
been  more  religious  than  this,  if  viewed  in  refer- 
ence to  the  vast  amount  of  lofty  intellect  struggling 
with  the  Past,  and  aspiring  towards  the  Future. 
But  the  Present  can  shelter  itself  under  no  temple. 
"Why  have  you  made  me  enter  this  V 

u  Do  you  not  attend  mass  every  Sunday?" 

"  That  is  merely  in  obedience  to  the  conventional 
laws  of  society ;  and  I  have  no  ambition  to  be 
thought  a  latitudinarian.  Sunday  is  a  day  of  re- 
ligious obligation,  sanctioned  by  the  world  gene- 
rally." 

"  Alas !  you  are  a  hypocrite." 
"  In  religion !  Not  at  all.  I  conceal  from  none 
that  I  obey  only  a  custom." 

"  You  make  to  yourself,  then,  a  god  of  this  pro- 


JEALOUSY.  71 

fane  world,  and  him  you  find  it  easier  to  worship, 
than  the  God  of  the  universe." 

"  Leonce,  could  you  be  a  bigot?"  said  she,  look- 
ing at  him  earnestly. 

"  I  am  an  artist,"  replied  he.  "  I  everywhere  feel 
the  presence  of  God,  even  while  surrounded  by 
these  rude  images,  relics  of  the  Middle  Ages,  which 
give  to  this  place  the  air  of  some  barbarous  pa- 
goda." 

"  You  are  more  impious  than  I.  These  fright- 
ful fetiches,  these  exvoto  cynics  fill  me  with  terror." 

"  I  see.  The  Past  is  your  fear.  It  spoils  your 
Present.  Oh !  why  can  you  not  comprehend  the 
Future  \    You  would  then  be  in  the  ideal." 

"  Stay,  Artist,  look  there !"  exclaimed  Sabina, 
calling  his  attention  to  a  figure  kneeling  upon  the 
pavement,  in  the  gloomy  darkness  of  a  funereal 
chapel. 

It  was  a  young  girl,  almost  a  child,  poorly,  but 
neatly  dressed.  She  was  not  handsome.,  but  her 
countenance  was  touchingly  expressive,  and  her 
attitude  betokened  a  singular  nobility  of  soul.  A 
ray  of  sun,  streaming  into  the  damp  cave  she  had 
selected  for  her  devotions,  fell  upon  her  dewy  neck 
and  upon  a  magnificent  tress  of  pale  blond,  almost 
white  hair,  which  was  gathered  up  by  a  band  of 
scarlet  velvet,  embroidered  with  tarnished  gold, 


72  JEALOUSY. 

and  trimmed  with  black  lace,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  country.  Her  skin  was  dark,  notwithstanding 
the  pale  tint  of  her  hair,  and  her  soft,  blue  eye  was 
rendered  almost  dazzlingly  brilliant,  by  the  long 
and  heavy  golden  lashes,  edged  with  silver.  Her 
profile  was  rather  too  short,  but  its  curves  indicated 
an  extraordinary  degree  of  energy  and  shrewdness. 

"  Come,  Leonce.  Pray  do  not  entirely  lose  your- 
felf  in  admiration,'7  said  Sabina  to  her  companion 
who  remained  as  if  petrified,  before  the  young 
villager.  "  It  is  I  alone  who  am  to  occupy  your 
thoughts  to-day.  If  any  thing  takes  your  attention 
from  me,  then  I  am  lost.  My  enemy,  ennui,  will 
resume  his  sway." 

"  I  think  only  of  you  while  looking  at  her.  Look 
at  her  also,  I  entreat  you.  You  should  be  able  to 
understand  that?" 

«  That  ?  That  is  blind  and  stupid  faith.  It  is 
the  past  which  yet  lives.  It  is  the  people.  It  may 
be  curious  for  the  artist,  but  I  am  a  poet,  and  I 
require  something  more  than  what  is  merely 
strange  ;  I  seek  the  beautiful.  This  little  creature 
is  ugly." 

"  That  is  because  you  know  nothing  about  it. 
She  is  beautiful  acording  to  the  rare  type  to  which 
she  belongs." 

"  Type  of  Albinos." 


JEALOUSY. 


73 


"No!  It  is  the  coloring  of  Kubens  with  the 
austere  expression  of  the  virgins  of  the  Lower  Em- 
pire.   And  the  attitude !" 

"  Is  as  stiff  as  the  drawings  of  the  Old  Masters. 
Do  you  like  that?" 

"  It  has  a  grace  of  its  own,  because  it  is  naive 
and  unpremeditated.  The  position  of  Canova's 
Madeleine  is  studied,  and  all  the  virgins  of  the  Re- 
naissance know  that  they  are  beautiful.  The  pri- 
mitive models  are  all  of  one  cast,  of  one  piece ;  it 
might  be  said  of  one  growth,  like  the  thought  which 
gave  them  birth." 

"  And  which  petrifies  them.  Stay,  she  has  fin- 
ished her  prayer ;  speak  to  her.  You  will  find  out 
that  she  is  stupid,  although  her  countenance  is  so 
expressive." 

"  My  child,"  said  Leonce,  addressing  the  young 
girl,  "  you  seem  to  be  very  pious.  Is  there  any 
particular  kind  of  devotion  attached  to  this  cha- 
pel?" 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  young  girl,  with  a  low 
reverence.  "  I  come  here  to  pray  in  order  to  con- 
ceal myself  from  the  Cure." 

"  And  why  should  you  fear  the  observation  of 
the  Cure'  ?"  demanded  Lady  G  . 

"  I  am  afraid  he  will  drive  me  away,"  answered 
the  mountaineer.    "  He  does  not  wish  me  to  come 


74  JEALOUSY. 

into  the  church  any  more,  because  he  says  I  am  in 
a  state  of  mortal  sin." 

She  made  this  response  with  so  much  self-pos- 
session, and  with  an  air  so  ingenuous  and  decided, 
that  Sabina  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  And  is  that  true  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  think  the  Cure  is  mistaken,  and  that  God 
sees  more  clearly  into  my  heart  than  he  can,"  re- 
plied the  young  girl. 

Hereupon,  she  made  another  low  reverence,  and 
ran  away,  for  the  Cure'  having  finished  disrobing 
himself  of  his  priestly  garments,  appeared  at  the 
end  of  the  nave. 

Interrogated  by  our  two  travellers,  the  Curd  cast 
a  glance  upon  the  flying  sinner,  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, and  said  in  an  angry  tone,  "  Pay  no  attention 
to  that  miserable  creature,  she  is  a  lost  soul." 

"  That  is  very  strange,"  said  Sabina.  "  One 
would  not  believe  it  from  looking  at  her  face." 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  the  Curd,  "  I  am  at  your  orders." 

They  resumed  their  places  in  the  carriage.  After 
a  few  words  of  general  conversation,  the  Curd  de- 
manded permission  to  read  his  breviary,  and  soon 
became  so  absorbed  in  this  devotion,  that  Leonce 
and  Sabina  were,  once  more,  as  it  were,  tete-a-tete. 
The  old  gentleman  not  appearing  to  understand 
English,  they  carried  on  their  conversation  in  that 


JEALOUSY.  75 

language,  in  order  not  to  distract  his  attention  from 
his  book. 

"  This  intolerant  priest,  the  slave  of  his  pater- 
nosters, does  not  promise  to  afford  us  much  plea- 
sure," said  Sabina.  "  I  suspect  you  have  recruited 
him  as  a  punishment  for  the  ill-nature  I  displayed 
on  meeting  the  Marchioness." 

"  Perhaps  my  motive  was  more  serious,"  replied 
Leonce.    "  Do  you  not  guess  it?" 

« I  do  not." 

tt  I  have  no  objection  to  tell  it ;  but  on  condition 
that  you  listen  to  me  very  seriously." 
"  You  make  me  uneasy." 

"  That  is  already  something  gained.  You  must 
know,  then,  that  I  have  added  this  third  person  to 
our  party,  from  a  motive  of  self-preservation." 

"  Preservation  from  what,  may  it  please  you?" 

"  From  the  danger  concealed  in  all  conversations 
between  young  people  founded  on  love." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  Leonce.  As  far  as  I  am 
concerned.  I  am  not  conscious  of  any  danger. 
You  promised  that  ennui  should  not  come  near 
me  to-day ;  I  relied  on  your  word,  and  was  tran- 
quil." 

"  You  are  jesting.  That  is  too  weak.  You  pro- 
mised me  to  be  serious." 


76  JEALOUSY. 

"  Come,  then,  I  am  very  grave,  grave  as  this 
Cure*.    What  would  you  say  ?" 

"  That,  alone  with  you,  I  am  in  danger  of  expe- 
riencing emotions  which  might  deprive  me  of  that 
calmness  on  which  depends  my  power  over  you 
to-day.  My  office  is  to  magnetize,  and  allay  your 
habitual  irritation.  Now,  you  know  that  the  first 
condition  of  magnetic  power  is  an  absolute  phlegm ; 
it  is  an  application  of  the  will  to  the  idea  of  imma- 
terial domination.  It  demands  the  absence  of  all 
emotion  foreign  to  the  mysterions  influence.  I 
might  allow  myself  to  be  disturbed  and  affected 
by  the  glance  of  your  eye,  by  the  sound  of  your 
voice,  or,  in  one  word,  by  your  magnetic  fluid,  and 
then,  our  parts  would  have  become  inverted." 

"  Is  this  a  declaration,  Le*once  ?"  said  Sabina, 
with  ironical  hauteur. 

"  No,  madam ;  just  the  contrary,"  he  replied 
very  quietly. 

"An  impertinence,  perhaps?" 

"  By  no  means.  I  have  been  your  friend  a  long 
time,  and  a  true  friend,  as  you  very  well  know, 
although  you  are  a  strange,  and  sometimes,  an 
unjust  woman.  We  have  been  intimate  from 
childhood ;  our  affection  has  always  been  loyal  and 
tender.  You  have  cultivated  it  with  frankness,  I, 
with  devotion.    Very  few  men  are  as  much  my 


JEALOUSY.  77 

friends  as  you  are,  and  the  society  of  none  of  them 
attracts  me  so  strongly  as  yours;  yet  you  some 
times  cause  me  an  indescribable  suffering.  This 
is  not  the  moment  to  seek  its  cause ;  that  is  an  in- 
ternal problem,  which  as  yet  I  have  not  tried  to 
solve.  One  thing,  however,  is  certain,  that  I  am 
not  in  love  with  you  now,  and  never  have  been. 
Without  entering  into  explanations,  which,  after 
this  declaration,  might,  perhaps,  be  rather  too 
plain,  I  think  that  you  now  understand  why  I  have 
not  chosen  to  run  the  danger  of  being  moved  by 
so  beautiful  a  woman  as  you,  and  why  the  rotund 
and  peaceful  countenance  before  us  was  necessary 
to  prevent  my  regarding  you  with  too  tender  an 
admiration." 

"That  is  enough,  Leonce,"  replied  Sabina,  affect- 
ing to  arrange  her  ruffles,  in  order  to  conceal  the 
blushes  which  mantled  her  cheeks.  "  It  is  even 
too  much.  There  is  something  in  your  thoughts 
humiliating  to  me." 

"  I  defy  you  to  prove  it." 

"  I  shall  not  make  the  attempt.  Your  conscience 
should  accuse  you." 

"  "Not  at  all.  I  cannot  give  you  a  stronger  evi- 
dence of  my  respect,  than  by  driving  love  from 
my  thoughts." 

"  Love,  indeed !    It  is  very  far  from  your  heart. 


78 


JEALOUSY. 


That  you  believe  you  have  reason  to  fear  it,  flatters 
me  but  little.  I  am  not  an  old  coquette,  to  pride 
myself  on  such  triumphs." 

"  Nevertheless,  if  it  were  love,  love  of  the  heart 
as  you  understand  it,  you  would  be  still  more  irri- 
tated." 

"  Afflicted,  perhaps,  because  I  could  not  respond 
to  it,  but  much  less  irritated  than  I  am  now,  by 
the  avowal  of  your  indescribable  suffering." 

"  Be  frank,  my  friend,  you  would  not  even  be 
afflicted.    You  would  laugh  at  it,  that  is  all." 

"  Do  you  accuse  me  of  coquetry  ?  You  have  no 
right.  And  how  can  you  know  any  thing  about 
it,  since  you  have  not  loved  me,  and  you  have 
never  seen  me  in  love  with  any  one  ?" 

"  Listen,  Sabina.  I  have  certainly  never  tried 
to  please  you.  So  many  others  have  been  foiled  in 
the  attempt.  Do  I  even  know  if  any  man  has  ever 
succeeded  in  winning  your  love?  I  remember, 
however,  that  one  day,  when  you  were  unusually 
sad  and  communicative,  you  acknowledged  to  have 
felt  the  power  of  the  wily  god,  but  I  am  not  sure 
that  your  enthusiasm  did  not  deceive  you.  If  I 
had  shown  to  you  that  I  am  capable  of  loving 
ardently,  you  might  have  admitted  that  I  merited 
something  more  than  your  friendship  merely.  But 
to  have  made  you  comprehend  that,  it  would  have 


JEALOUSY.  79 

been  necessary  for  me  to  love  yon  thus,  which  I 
did  not,  or  to  feign  it,  and  to  intoxicate  myself 
with  my  own  asseverations.  That  would  have  been 
unworthy  of  the  nobility  of  my  attachment  for 
you,  and  I  cannot  stoop  to  such  artifices ;  or,  worse 
yet,  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  reveal  to  you 
the  secrets  of  my  life,  to  paint  my  true  character, 
in  one  word,  to  sound  my  own  trumpet  of  self- 
praise.  And  then,  not  to  be  understood — to  be 
laughed  at !  Just  punishment  of  a  childish  vanity! 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  suffer  disgrace  like  that !" 

"  From  what  are  you  vindicating  yourself, 
Le*once  ?  Do  I  complain  that  you  give  me  only 
your  friendship  ?  Have  I  ever  asked  for  anything 
more  ? " 

"  No;  but  because  I  watch  myself  so  scrupulously, 
you  might  very  naturally  think  me  a  brute,  if  you 
did  not  understand  my  motives." 

"  Of  what  use  is  it  to  watch  yourself  so  closely, 
since  there  is  nothing  to  fear.  Love  is  spontane- 
ous. It  surprises  and  invades ;  it  never  reasons  ; 
it  has  no  need  to  interrogate  itself,  to  surround 
itself  with  defences,  plans  of  attack  and  projects 
of  retreat.  It  betrays  itself,  and  then  only  is  it 
restrained." 

"  A  good  lesson,"  thought  Le*once,  "  and  it  is 
Bhe  who  gives  it  to  me."   He  felt  the  necessity  of 


80  JEALOUSY. 

concealing  his  annoyance,  and  taking  Lady  G — 'a 
hand,  and  pressing  it  affectionately,  he  said  to 
her — "You  see,  dear  Sabina,  that  love  between 
you  and  me  is  entirely  out  of  the  question.  There 
is  nothing  of  the  new  or  mysterious  in  our  hearts 
for  each  other.  We  know  each  other  too  well ; 
we  are  like  brother  and  sister." 

"You  utter  a  falsehood  and  a  blasphemy," 
replied  the  proud  lady,  withdrawing  her  hand. 
"  Brothers  and  sisters  never  know  each  other, 
since  the  most  vital  and  profound  emotions  of  their 
souls  are  never  in  contact,  and  never  revealed  to 
each  other.  Above  all,  do  not  say  that  you  and  I 
know  each  other  too  well.  I  assert,  on  the  con- 
trary, that  you  do  not  comprehend  me  at  all,  and 
never  will.  Therefore,  all  the  rude  and  disagree- 
able things  you  have  said  to  me  this  morning, 
instead  of  exciting  my  anger  only  cause  me  to 
smile.  Even  more,  I  prefer  likewise  not  to  com- 
prehend you  any  better.  If  you  would  preserve 
your  1  magnetic  fluid,'  leave  me  to  believe  that 
there  are  in  your  heart  treasures  of  passion  and 
tenderness,  of  which  our  peaceful  friendship  is  only 
the  shadow." 

"  And  if  you  believed  it,  you  would  love  me, 
Sabina !  I  am  very  certain,  then,  that  you  do  not 
believe  it." 


JEALOUSY, 


81 


"  I  may  say  as  much  as  that.  But  must,  then, 
the  conclusion  inevitably  follow,  that,  being  only 
friends,  we  cannot  have  a  high  opinion  of  each 
other?" 

"  She  is  piqued,"  thought  Leonce,  "  and  now 
we  are  at  the  point  of  hating  or  loving." 

"  In  my  opinion,"  said  the  Cure,  closing  his  bre- 
viary, "  we  had  better  now  break  our  fast,  if 
agreeable  to  Madam  and  Monsieur." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  replied  Leonce,  "  and  all  the 
more  readily,  that  there  is  a  few  steps  from  here  a 
plateau  of  rocks,  with  plenty  of  shade,  where  we 
may  obtain  a  charming  view." 

"  What,  above  there  ? "  cried  the  Cure,  who  was 
somewhat  inclined  to  corpulency.  "  Would  you 
climb  up  the  Roche  Vert?  We  shall  be  alto- 
gether more  comfortable  in  this  thicket  of  firs, 
just  on  the  edge  of  the  road." 

"  But  we  shall  have  no  view,"  said  Lady  G  , 

playfully  passing  her  arm  within  that  of  the  old 
priest.  "  And  can  we  get  along  without  a  view 
of  these  beautiful  mountains?" 

"  1  think  we  can  very  well,  while  eating,"  re- 
plied the  Cure — submitting,  however,  meekly  to 
her  guidance. 

The  jockey  conducted  the  britzska  into  the 

shady  thicket,  and  in  a  few  moments  numerous 
5 


82 


JEALOUSY. 


servitors  presented  themselves,  to  assist  in  feeding 
the  horses  and  driving  away  the  flies.  These 
were  the  little  herdsmen,  who,  stationed  at  various 
points  among  the  mountains,  had,  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye,  surrounded  our  travellers,  like  a 
flight  of  curious  and  hungry  birds.  One  took  the 
cushions  of  the  carriage,  and  placed  them  on  the 
rocks,  as  seats  for  the  guests  ;  another  charged 
himself  with  the  game  pies;  a  third,  with  the 
wines  :  each  striving  to  be  useful  in  his  own  way, 
either  by  carrying  or  breaking  something.  The 
"dejeuner  c7iampetrev  was  quickly  installed  on  the 
Boche  Vert,  and  the  Cure,  seeing  how  splendid  and 
substantial  it  was,  wiped  his  forehead,  while  his 
almost  breathless  body  gave  utterance  to  a  sigh  of 
rejoicing.  Everybody  partook  of  the  repast,  inclu- 
ding the  domestics  and  the  little  ragged  pages,  for 
there  was  an  ample  supply.  Leonce  had  not  done 
things  by  halves.  One  might  have  thought  that 
he  had  foreseen  for  what  an  enormous  priestly 
stomach  he  should  be  called  upon  to  provide. 
Sabina  was  very  merry  and  cheerful,  and  admit- 
ted, that  for  a  long  time  her  appetite  had  not 
been  so  good  as  at  the  present  moment.  Leonce, 
having  at  last  served  every  one  else,  was  just  pre- 
paring to  help  himself,  when  the  children,  seated 
in  a  group  near  by,  all  at  once  began  to  make  a 


JEALOUSY.  83 

great  commotion,  to  leap  up,  to  motion  with 
their  arms,  as  if  beckoning  to  some  one  in  the 
ravine,  and  to  cry — "  The  bird-tamer !  The  bird- 
tamer  ! " 


in. 

ENLEVONS  HERMIONE. 

"  Hold  your  tongues,  senseless  brood,"  said  the 
Cure.  "Don't  call  that  foolish  girl  this  way. 
We  want  nothing  to  do  with  her  jugglery." 

The  children,  however,  paid  no  attention  to  his 
commands,  but  continued  to  call  and  gesticulate  ; 
whereupon  Sabina,  stooping  down  and  looking 
over  the  edge  of  the  rock,  saw  a  most  extraordi- 
nary spectacle.  A  young  mountaineer  was  climb- 
ing the  steep  bank  leading  to  the  Roche  Vert — 
and  this  child  moved,  literally,  through  a  dense 
cloud  of  birds,  who  fluttered  around  her — some 
pecking  at  her  hair,  some  planting  themselves  on 
her  shoulders,  and  others,  very  young  ones,  hop- 
ping along  at  her  feet,  in  the  sand.  All  seemed 
to  dispute  the  pleasure  of  touching  or  the  advan- 
tage of  imploring  her,  and  filled  the  air  with  their 
cries  of  joy  and  impatience.    When  the  young 


84: 


JEALOUSY. 


girl  was  near  enough  to  be  distinguished  through 
her  whirling  crowd  of  attendants,  Le'once  and 
Sabina  recognized  the  blonde,  with  vermillion 
cheeks  and  golden  hair,  whom  they  had  seen  in 
the  church,  an  hour  previous. 

At  this  moment,  the  Cure',  also  leaning  over  the 
mde  of  the  rock  which  commanded  a  view  of  the 
ravine,  began  gesticulating  to  her  most  vehe- 
mently his  displeasure  at  her  presence,  and  his 
positive  orders  that  she  should  instantly  leave  the 
spot.  The  priest's  large  full  face  produced  upon 
her  an  effect  like  that  of  the  head  of  Medusa. 
She  remained  transfixed  and  motionless,  while  the 
birds,  alarmed  at  the  abrupt  halt,  flew  off  to  the 
neighboring  trees  for  refuge. 

The  entreaties,  however  of  Lady  G  ,  and 

perhaps  the  sight  of  his  glass  filled  with  excellent 
Grecian  wine,  she  had  just  poured  out  for  him, 
calmed  the  ire  of  the  holy  man,  and  he  at  last  con- 
sented to  call  back  the  child. 

"  Here,  now,  come  perform  your  pasquinades 
before  the  lady  and  gentleman,  vagabond  that 
you  are." 

The  young  girl  held  concealed  in  her  hand  a 
quantity  of  grain,  which  at  these  words  she  threw 
behind  her  as  far  as  possible,  and  so  skilfully,  that 
it  appeared  as  if  she  were  only  making  an  impera- 


JEALOUSY.  85 

tive  gesture  to  the  little  birds,  who  were  again 
beginning  to  surround  her.  They  immediately 
alighted  in  the  thicket  which  she  pretended  to 
point  out  to  them,  and  there  remained,  apparently 
in  obedience  to  her  commands,  but,  in  reality, 
occupied  in  picking  up  the  grain  scattered  on  the 
ground.  The  other  children  were  not  duped  by 
this  manoeuvre,  but  Sabina  experienced  that  plea- 
sure in  its  fullest  extent. 

"  Well,  indeed  !  Yery  well  done,  my  hardened 
little  sinner,"  said  Leonce,  extending  his  hand  to 
the  mountaineer,  to  aid  her  in  reaching  the  pla- 
teau, which  was  particularly  steep  and  difficult  of 
access  on  this  side.  But  his  assistance  was  not 
required,  for  she  bounded  up  the  rock  like  a 
young  chamois,  and  placing  both  hands  on  her 
forehead,  asked  permission  to  work. 

"  Let  us  see.  Let  us  see  quickly,  idle  child," 
said  the  Cure',  "  what  it  is  you  are  pleased  to  call 
your  work." 

Availing  herself  of  the  permission  thus  ungra- 
eiously  accorded,  she  turned  to  the  children,  and 
requested  them  to  keep  their  dogs  close  at  their 
side,  and  also  to  remain  perfectly  quiet  them- 
selves. She  then  took  from  her  shoulders  a  small 
red,  woollen  mantle,  and  climbing  a  neighboring 
rock,  higher  than  the  "  Boche  Vert"  she  waved 


86 


JEALOUSY. 


it  like  a  flag  in  the  air  above  her  head.  At  the 
same  instant,  a  throng  of  birds  of  every  species — 
6parrows,  fauvets,  linnets,  bullfinches,  black-birds, 
ring-doves,  and  even  swallows,  with  forked  tails 
and  large  black  wings,  flew  out  from  all  the  sur- 
rounding bushes,  precipitating  themselves  upon 
her.  She  played  with  them  a  few  minutes,  repul- 
sed them,  gesticulated  to  them,  shook  the  mantle 
as  if  to  frighten  them,  caught  some  flying  and 
threw  them  back  again  into  the  air — all  without 
succeeding  in  disgusting  them  with  their  amorous 
pursuit.  Then,  when  she  had  shown  to  what 
extent  she  was  the  adored  and  absolute  sovereign 
of  this  free  people,  she  covered  her  head  with  the 
mantle,  threw  herself  upon  the  ground,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  asleep.  Whereupon,  these  little 
winged  creatures  instantly  alighted  on  her  body, 
each  struggling  for  a  hiding  place  in  the  plaits  of 
her  garments,  and  appearing  as  if  magnetized  by 
her  slumber.  Finally,  she  rose,  repeated  her 
stratagem,  and,  with  the  aid  of  more  grain,  sent 
them  back  to  the  bushes,  where  they  disappeared, 
and  ceased  their  chattering. 

The  whole  pantomime  was  at  once  so  graceful 
and  poetic,  her  power  over  the  inhabitants  of  the 
air  seemed  so  truly  marvellous,  as  to  cause  our 
travellers  unmitigated  sensations  of  delight  at  the 


JEALOUSY.  87 

little  scene.  The  negress  had  no  hesitation  in 
attributing  it  to  enchantment,  and  even  the  Cure 
himself  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  charming 
tricks  of  the  pupils,  although  he  forebore  to 
applaud  their  instructress. 

"  She  is  really  a  little  fairy,"  said  Sabina,  draw- 
ing the  bird-tamer  towards  her  ;  "  and  I  acknow- 
ledge, Leonce,  that  I  am  reconciled  to  her  amber 
eye-lashes.  Mignon  had  done  her  injustice  in  my 
imagination.  I  should  have  preferred  her  as  a 
brunette  and  playing  the  guitar,  but  now  I  accept 
this  rustic  and  blonde  Mignon,  and  I  like  this 
magic  scene  as  well  as  the  "Egg  Dance?'  Tell 
me  first,  dear  child,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  I  am  called  Madeleine  Meleze."  said  the  bird- 
tamer,  "  at  your  ladyship^s  service.7' 

"  What  beautiful  names  !  and  in  harmony  with 
yourself.  Come,  take  a  seat  here  by  me,  and 
breakfast  with  us ;  provided,  however,  that  your 
subjects,  the  birds,  do  not  appear,  like  the  plagues 
of  Egypt,  and  devour  our  repast." 

"  Oh  !  have  no  fear,  Madam.  My  children 
never  approach  me  when  other  people  are  near." 

"In  that  case,"  said  the  Cure,  in  a  tone  of 
rebuke,  "  if  you  wish  to  retain  this  foolish  busi- 
ness, by  which  you  get  your  living,  I  advise  you 
not  to  be  so  often  accompanied  in  your  walks  by 


88  JEALOUSY. 

the  vagabonds  whom  you  meet ;  for  you  will  soon 
discover,  that,  although  their  presence  is  respected 
by  these  birds  of  passage,  the  birds  of  the  country 
will  no  longer  know  you,  Madeleine." 

"  But  M.  le  Cure,  you  have  been  deceived," 
replied  the  bird-tamer.  "  I  have  never  had  but 
one  companion  in  my  rambles,  and  that  is  only 
lately ;  we  two  are  always  alone,  never  have  any 
one  else  with  us,  and  whoever  has  told  you  the 
contrary,  has  told  you  a  falsehood." 

The  serious  air  with  which  she  accompanied 
this  response,  amused  Leonce,  but  excited  the 
Cure's  anger. 

"  See  there,  what  a  beautiful  reply  to  make  1" 
said  he.  "  Was  there  ever  a  more  brazen-faced 
sinner  than  this  little  girl !" 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  do  not  understand 
the  child,"  said  Sabina  to  the  Cure' :  "  Her  sur- 
prise and  boldness  are  the  effect  of  a  candor  and 
serenity  of  soul,  whose  harmony  your  evil  thoughts 
may  disturb.  Permit  me  to  tell  you,  my  dear 
Cure',  that,  good  as  your  intentions  doubtless  are, 
you  are  nevertheless  doing  all  in  your  power  to 
deprive  her  of  the  innocence  and  purity  of  her 
mind." 

"And  is  it  you,  Madam,  who  thus  speak?'' 
replied  the  Cure',  in  a  low  tone.    "You,  who, 


JEALOUSY.  89 

from  motives  of  prudence  and  virtue,  objected  to 
a  tete-a-tete  drive  with  this  noble  gentleman,  not- 
withstanding the  propriety  of  his  conduct  and  the 
presence  of  your  domestics  ?" 

Sabina  regarded  the  Cure*  with  astonishment ; 
then  darting  upon  Le'once  a  glance  full  of  reproach 
and  derision,  she  added,  in  a  spirit  of  noble  self- 
renunciation  : 

"  If  you  thus  interpret  the  motive  which  led  us 
to  seek  your  society,  M.  le  Cure,  you  should  find 
in  it  the  confirmation  of  my  opinion  regarding 
this  child :  it  is,  that  her  thoughts  are  more  pure 
than  ours." 

"  Pure  as  you  will,  Madam,"  resumed  the  Curd, 
whom  Sabina  had  already  mentally  surnamed  the 
Growler,  occupied  as  she  was  in  tracing  resem- 
blances between  her  companions  in  the  adven- 
tures of  the  morning,  and  the  characters  in  Wil- 
helm  Meister — "  but  let  me  tell  you,  that  with 
girls  of  her  condition,  living  as  they  do,  a  life  of 
hazard  and  unrestraint,  the  excess  of  innocence  is 
the  worst  of  dangers.  The  first  comer  abuses  it ; 
and  this  will  be  the  case  with  her,  if  she  is  not 
already  a  victim." 

"  Ah  !  If  it  were  so,  she  would  be  confused  at 
your  suspicions,  whereas  she  is  only  frightened  at 
your  menaces.    You  priests,  learned  as  you  are. 


90  JEALOUSY. 

yet  know  nothing  of  the  nature  of  woman.  You 
pitilessly  wound  her  youthful  modesty." 

"  I  maintain,"  interrupted  the  Curd,  "  that  what 
is  true  for  people  of  your  class,  is  not  applicable 
to  the  lower  orders  of  society.  The  modesty  of 
such  children  as  Madeleine  is  no  more  nor  less 
than  stupidity  and  thoughtlessness.  They  do 
wrong  without  knowing  what  it  is  they  do." 

"  In  that  case,  perhaps  it  is  not  wrong  for  them, 
and  I  can  verily  believe  that  God  will  not  hold 
them  guilty !" 

"  That  is  heresy,  Madam." 

"As  you  will,  M.  le  Cure*.  If  you  wish  to 
argue  the  question,  I  have  no  objection.  I  am 
well  convinced,  however,  that  you  are  better  than 
you  would  appear  ;  and  that,  at  the  bottom  of 
your  heart,  you  don't  dislike  my  morality." 

"  Well.  Yes.  We  will  argue  the  question  after 
breakfast,"  answered  the  Cure. 

"Meantime,"  said  Sabina,  gracefully  filling  his 
glass,  and  bestowing  upon  him  one  of  her  sweet-* 
est  glances,  the  malice  of  which  he  did  not  com- 
prehend, "you  are  going  to  accord  me  a  favor, 
are  you  not,  my  dear  Curd  ?" 

"  How  can  I  refuse  you  anything?"  he  replied, 
carrying  the  glass  to  his  lips,  and  swallowing  the 


JEALOUSY.  91 

bumper  of  Cyprus  wine — "  especially  if  it  be  a 
reasonable  and  Christian  demand." 

"  You  are  to  make  a  conditional  peace  with  the 

bird-tamer,"  resumed  Lady  G  .    "  I  take  her 

under  my  protection;  you  must  not  put  her  to 
flight,  nor  speak  harshly  to  her ;  you  will  leave 
to  me  the  care  of  gently  confessing  her;  and  then, 
after  hearing  the  account  I  shall  render  to  you 
concerning  her,  you  are  at  liberty  to  be  indulgent 
or  severe,  according  to  the  merits  of  the  case." 

"  Granted  !"  exclaimed  the  Cure,  becoming 
amiable  and  yielding,  in  proportion  as  he  satisfied 
his  robust  appetite.  "  See  here,  now,"  said  he, 
addressing  Madeleine,  who  was  talking  with 
Leonce,  "  I  pardon  you  for  to-day,  and  will  allow 
you  to  come  to  confession  to-morrow,  on  condition 
that  from  this  moment  you  submit  yourself  to  all 
the  commands  of  this  noble  and  virtuous  lady, 
who  has  kindly  interested  herself  in  your  behalf, 
and  wishes  to  assist  you  in  forsaking  your  paths 
of  sin." 

The  word  sin  produced  on  Madeleine,  the  same 
effect  of  astonishment  and  doubt  as  at  first ;  but 
convinced  of  the  friendly  disposition  of  her  pas- 
tor, and  particularly  of  the  interest  evinced  for 
her  by  the  noble  lady,  she  made  a  reverence  to 
the  one,  and  kissed  the  hand  of  the  other. 


92 


JEALOUSY. 


Interrogated  by  Leonce,  respecting  the  means 
she  employed  to  gain  the  love  and  obedience  of 
her  birds,  she  refused  to  explain  them  to  him, 
and  pretended  that  she  was  possessed  of  a  great 
secret. 

"  Come,  Madeleine,  this  is  not  right,"  said  the 
Cure.  "If  you  would  have  me  pardon  every- 
thing, you  must  begin  by  divorcing  yourself  from 
falsehood.  To  seek  to  keep  alive  superstition  is  a 
grave  fault,  especially  when  the  object  is  to  profit 
by  it.  Here,  moreover,  it  will  not  serve  you.  At 
the  fairs  you  are  in  the  habit  of  attending  to 
exhibit  your  talent,  (very  much  against  my  judg- 
ment— for  this  life  of  vagabondage  is  not  such  as 
a  pious  maiden  should  lead,)  you  may  be  able  to 
persuade  silly  people  that  you  possess  a  charm, 
whereby  you  can  attract  to  you  any  bird  that 
comes  in  your  way,  and  keep  it  near  you  as  long 
as  you  please.  But  your  little  comrades  here  well 
know  that  in  these  mountains,  where  birds  are 
scarce,  you  make  it  the  business  of  your  life  to 
run  all  over,  seeking  out  the  nests  they  build,  seiz- 
ing upon  the  young  brood  as  soon  as  it  is  hatched; 
thus  compelling  the  parents  to  come  to  you,  and 
feed  their  little  ones  upon  your  knees.  Every- 
body knows  the  patience  with  which  you  remain 
standing  for  hours,  immovable  as  a  statue  or  a 


JEALOUSY.  93 

tree,  in  order  to  accustom  these  little  creatures  to 
regard  you  without  fear.  Everybody  knows  that 
as  soon  as  they  become  tame,  they  follow  you  all 
over,  to  receive  their  accustomed  food  at  your 
hands,  and  that  they  bring  with  them  their 
family,  as  it  increases ;  thus  following  an  admi- 
rable instinct  of  memory  and  attachment,  with 
which  many  species  of  birds  seem  to  be  endowed. 
All  this  is  not  sorcery.  Each  one  of  us,  if,  like 
you,  we  were  enemies  of  useful  and  reasonable 
labor,  could  do  as  much.  I  entreat  you,  therefore, 
no  longer  to  assume  the  role  of  magician,  pretend- 
ing that  you  are  inspired,  like  certain  celebrated 
impostors  of  antiquity — among  others,  the  misera- 
ble Apollonius  of  Thyane,  who  claimed  to  under- 
stand the  language  of  sparrows,  and  whom  the 
Church  condemns  as  false  prophets.  As  to  these 
noble  persons,  do  not  hope  to  make  fools  of  them. 
Their  intelligence  and  their  education  make  it 
impossible  for  them  to  believe  that  a  child  like 
you  can  be  invested  with  supernatural  power." 

"  Indeed,  M.  le  Curd,"  said  Lady  G  ,  "  you 

could  not  have  chosen  a  less  agreeable  subject  of 
conversation.  Your  sermon  on  superstition  is 
most  mal-d-aprqpos.  The  explanation  you  give  is 
death  to  poetry,  and  I  would,  a  hundred  times 
prefer  to  believe  that  poor  Madeleine  is  endowed 


91 


JEALOUSY. 


with  some  mysterious  gift,  miraculous  even,  if  you 
will,  than  to  chill  my  imagination  by  accepting 
your  common-place  realities.  Console  yourself," 
said  she,  turning  to  the  bird-tamer,  who,  shedding 
tears  of  vexation,  regarded  the  Cure'  with  a  sort 
of  naive  and  proud  indignation,  "  we  still  look 
upon  you  as  a  fairy,  and  submit  ourselves  to  your 
enchantments." 

"  Besides,"  said  Le*once,  "  the  explanations  of  M. 
le  Cure,  in  reality,  explain  nothing.  They  state 
facts,  but  do  not  develop  the  causes.  In  order  to  be 
able  thus  to  tame  these  beings,  naturally  wild  and 
free,  a  particular  kind  of  intelligence,  a  sort  of 
secret  magnetism,  entirely  exceptional,  is  neces- 
sary. Each  one  of  us  might  consecrate  ourselves 
in  vain,  to  an  education  which  the  mysterious 
fatality  of  instinct  has  unveiled  to  this  young  girl." 

"  Yes,  yes !"  cried  Madeleine,  her  eyes  sparkling 
with  intelligence,  as  if  she  perfectly  comprehended 
the  argument  of  Leonce.  c<  I  challenge  M.  le  Curd 
to  tame  even  a  chicken  in  his  yard,  and  I,  I  tame 
the  eagles  on  the  mountains." 

"  The  eagles !  You  !"  exclaimed  the  Cure*,  stung 
to  the  quick  as  he  saw  Sabina  convulsed  with 
laughter.  "  I  challenge  you  to  do  it. "  Eagles  can- 
not be  tamed  like  the  larks.  See  now,  then,  what 
is  gained  by  foolish  practices  and  ridiculous  pre- 


JEALOUSY. 


95 


tensions.  Those  who  assume  them  become  liars, 
and  that  is  exactly  your  case,  shameless  child." 

"  Pardon,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  a  young  goat- 
herd, who  had  separated  himself  from  the  group 
of  children,  to  listen  to  the  conversation  of  the 
gentle  folks,  "  Madeleine  does  tame  the  eagles ;  she 
has  done  it  for  a  long  time ;  I  have  seen  her  do  it. 
Her  power  increases  continually,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  but  that  she  will  soon  succeed  in  taming 
the  bears." 

"  No,  no,  never !"  replied  the  bird-tamer,  with 
a  mixture  of  terror  and  disgust  painted  on  her 
countenance,  "  my  mind  accords  only  with  that 
which  flies  in  the  air." 

"  Indeed  !  What  did  I  tell  you  ?"  cried  Le'once, 
struck  by  her  words.  "  She  feels,  although  she 
cannot  account  for  it  to  herself  or  others,  that 
there  are  indefinable  affinities  which  attract  cer 
tain  beings  to  her.  These  intimate  relations  are 
marvellous  to  us,  because  we  are  ignorant  of  their 
natural  laws :  but  the  world  of  physical  facts  is  full 
of  such  miracles,  although  they  escape  our  cogni- 
zance. And  be  assured  of  one  thing,  M.  le  Cure, 
the  devil  has  nothing  to  do  in  the  matter;  God 
alone  possesses  the  secrets  of  all  enigmas,  and  pre- 
sides over  all  mysteries." 

"  Very  good !"  said  the  Cure,  pleased  with  this 


96  JEALOUSY. 

explanation.  "  It  is  your  belief,  then,  that  there 
are  unknown  relations  existing  between  certain 
different  organizations.  Perhaps  this  child  exhales 
a  bird  odor,  perceptible  only  to  the  subtle  sense 
of  these  winged  creatures." 

"  She  certainly  has  the  profile  of  a  bird,"  said 
Sabina,  laughing.  "  The  small  hooked  nose,  the 
prominent  and  piercing  eye,  together  with  the 
lightness  of  her  movements,  the  grace  with  which 
she  moves  her  arms,  buoyant  as  wings  ;  her  limbs 
delicate  and  firm  as  the  claws  of  a  bird ;  and  you 
see  her  resemblance  to  a  young  eagle." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Madeleine,  who  appeared 
endowed  with  a  quick  intelligence,  and  compre- 
hended all  that  was  said  in  relation  to  her.  "  But 
besides  the  gift  of  making  myself  loved,  I  have 
also  that  of  making  myself  understood.  It  is  a 
science  with  me,  and  I  defy  any  one  else  to  disco- 
ver my  secret.  Which  of  you  can  tell  at  what 
hour  birds  will  obey  you,  and  what  hour  they  will 
not;  what  cry  can  be  heard  the  farthest;  in  what 
places  to  station  yourselves;  what  influences  to 
avoid ;  what  weather  is  propitious  ?  Ah !  Monsieur 
le  Cure',  if  you  knew  how  to  persuade  human 
beings  as  I  know  how  to  attract  the  brute  creation, 
your  churches  would  be  better  filled,  and  your 
saints  have  more  influence." 


JEALOUSY.  97 

"  She  does  not  lack  wit,"  said  the  clerical  growl- 
er, who  was  at  heart  a  kind  and  jovial  churchman, 
especially  after  drinking ;  "  but  it  is  a  diabolical 
sort  of  wit,  and  some  day  I  must  exorcise  it. 
Meanwhile,  Madeleine,  call  your  eagles  to  you." 

"And  where  shall  I  find  them  at  this  hour?" 
she  said  maliciously.  "  Do  you  know  where  they 
are,  Monsieur  le  Cure'  ?  If  you  know,  tell  me.  I 
will  go  and  seek  them  for  you." 

"  Go,  then,  since  you  pretend  to  know." 

"  They  are  where  I  cannot  go  now.  I  see  plain- 
ly, Monsieur  le  Cure,  that  you  do  not  know.  But 
if  you  are  not  afraid,  and  will  come  with  me  this 
evening  at  sunset,  I  will  show  you  something  that 
shall  astonish  you." 

The  Cure  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  Sabina's 
ardent  imagination  seized  hold  of  the  fantasy.  "  I 
will  go  there,"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  I  wish  to  be  afraid 
and  astonished.  I  wish  to  believe  in  the  devil  and 
see  him  if  possible." 

"  Gently,"  whispered  Leonce  in  her  ear.  "  You 
have  not  yet  my  permission,  dear  invalid.' 

u  I  demand  it.    I  will  extort  it  from  you,  ami- 
able doctor." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see.    I  will  interrogate  the  ma- 
gician, and  decide  according  to  my  judgment." 

"  I  count,  then,  upon  your  desire,  your  promise 


93 


JEALOUSY. 


to  amuse  me.    And  now,  is  it  not  time  to  return 

to  the  villa,  to  see  how  in y  Lord  G  has  slept." 

"  If  you  have  a  decided  will,  I  give  in  my  resig- 
nation." 

"  God  forbid !  During  the  whole  morning,  until 
this  moment,  I  have  not  experienced  an  instant  of 
ennui.  Do,  then,  whatever  you  may  judge  expe- 
dient ;  but  wherever  you  conduct  me,  I  beg  you 
will  allow  me  to  take  the  bird-tamer." 

"  That  was,  in  truth,  my  intention.  Do  you 
believe,  then,  that  we  find  her  here  by  accident?" 

u  You  are  acquainted  with  her,  then?  You  had 
arranged  to  meet  her  here  ?" 

u  Ask  me  no  questions." 

"  I  forgot.  Keep  your  secrets :  I  hope,  how- 
ever, that  you  have  other  surprises  in  store  for 
me." 

"  Certainly,  I  have  others,  and  I  announce  to 
you,  madam,  that  the  day  will  not  pass  without 
your  experiencing  emotions  which  shall  trouble 
your  slumbers  to-night." 

"  Emotions !  Ah !  what  happiness  I"  cried  Sa- 
bina.  "  And  shall  I  long  preserve  the  remem 
brance  of  them?" 

"  All  your  life,"  said  Leonce,  so  seriously  as  to 
indicate  that  he  no  longer  jested. 

"  You  are  a  very  singular  man,"  she  resumed. 


JEALOUSY.  99 

"  One  might  really  suppose  that  you  believe  in 
your  power  over  me,  as  Madeleine  believes  in  hers 
over  the  eagles." 

"  You  have  the  pride  and  ferocity  of  these  kings 
of  the  air,  and  I  have,  perhaps,  Madeleine's  deli- 
cacy of  observation,  as  well  as  her  patience  and 
cunning." 

"  Cunning !    You  inspire  me  with  fear." 

"  Precisely  what  I  wish.  Hitherto,  you  have 
laughed  at  me,  merely  because  you  have  not 
known  me." 

"  I !"  said  she,  a  little  excited  and  disturbed  by 
the  singular  turn  the  mind  of  Leonce  was  taking. 
"  I,  not  know  the  friend  of  my  childhood,  my  loyal 
knight-errant  ?  That,  in  truth,  is  about  as  reason- 
able as  to  tell  me  that  I  dream  of  laughing  at  you." 

"  You  have  nevertheless  said,  madam,  that  bro- 
thers and  sisters  are  eternally  unknown  to  each 
other,  because  the  most  interesting  and  vital  points 
of  their  souls,  are  never  in  contact.  A  mystery, 
profound  as  this  abyss,  separates  us.  But,  madam,' 
I  now  claim  to  know  you,  remaining  myself  un- 
known. That  is  to  say,"  he  added,  seeing  mistrust 
and  terror  depicted  in  Sabina's  face,  "  I  resign 
myself  to  love  you  more  than  is  my  will,  having 
no  claim  to  be  loved  by  you." 

"Provided  we  remain  friends,  Leonce,"  said 


100 


JEALOUSY. 


Lady  G  ,  suddenly  overpowered  by  an  anguish 

she  could  not  explain  to  herself,  "  I  consent  to  let 
you  continue  this  badinage ;  otherwise,  it  is  my 
wish  to  return  immediately  to  the  villa,  and  place 
myself  under  the  leaden  weight  of  conjugal  love.'' 

"  If  you  exact  it,  I  obey ;  I  am  again  the  man 
of  the  world,  and  abandon  the  marvellous  cure  that 
you  have  permitted  me  to  undertake." 

"  But  for  which  you  are,  however,  answerable. 
That  would  be  too  bad." 

"  I  can  answer  for  it  yet,  if  you  do  not  resist. 
A  complete,  unheard  of  revolution  may  to-day 
take  place  in  your  moral  and  intellectual  life,  if 
you  will  consent  to  abjure  until  this  evening,  the 
empire  of  your  will." 

"  But  what  confidence  I  must  have  in  your 
honor,  to  submit  so  unreservedly  to  your  control  ?" 

"  Do  you  then  believe  me  capable  of  abusing 
it  ?  If  so,  the  Curd  will  accompany  you  back  to 
the  villa.  I  will  go  through  the  mountains  in 
search  of  the  eagles,  less  prudent  and  suspicious 
than  you." 

"  With  Madeleine,  doubtless?" 

«  Why  not?" 

"  Friendship  has  its  jealousies  as  well  as  love. 
You  shall  not  go  without  me." 
"Come,  then!" 


JEALOUSY.  101 

"  Come !" 

Lady  G  rose  impetuously,  seized  the  arm 

of  the  bird-tamer,  as  if  clutching  her  prey,  and 
drew  it  within  her  own.  In  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  the  children  had  carried  back  to  the  carriage 
the  whole  of  the  breakfast  paraphernalia.  Every 
thing  was  washed,  ranged  and  packed  as  if  by 
magic.  The  negress  presided  over  the  operation 
with  the  air  of  a  busy  sybil ;  the  liberality  of  Le- 
once  gave  wings  to  the  idlest,  and  skill  to  the  awk- 
wardest. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  remarked  Sabina  to  him,  as 
she  watched  the  little  creatures  running  about  in 
every  direction,  "  that  I  am  at  the  fantastical 
wedding,  in  the  story  of  Gracieuse  and  Percinet. 
When  the  wandering  princess  opens  the  box  in 
the  enchanted  forest,  out  comes  an  army  of  minia- 
ture scullions  and  all  sorts  of  servants — who  turn 
the  spit,  cook,  and  serve  up  a  wonderful  feast  to 
the  joyous  band  of  Lilliputians — all  singing  and 
dancing  at  the  same  time,  like  these  little  rustic 
pages." 

"  The  apologue  is  truer  than  you  think,"  replied 
Le'once.  "Kecall  well  to  your  mind  the  story, 
that  charming  fantasy,  which  Hoffman  has  never 
surpassed.  It  is  at  the  moment  when  the  Princess 
Gracieuse,  punished  for  her  restless  curiosity,  by 


102  JEALOUSY. 

the  force  even  of  the  charm  she  could  not  dispel, 
saw  all  her  little  enchanted  world  take  flight,  and 
disperse  themselves  among  the  bushes.  The  cooks 
carry  the  fuming  spit,  the  musicians  their  violins, 
the  bridegroom  drags  away  his  bride,  the  parents 
scold,  the  guests  laugh,  the  servants  swear,  and  all 
mock  at  Gracieuse,  who,  with  her  beautiful  hands, 
seeks  in  vain  to  catch  them,  and  collect  them 
together  in  the  box  again.  Like  nimble  ants,  they 
escape,  running  across  her  fingers,  dispersing  and 
disappearing  under  the  moss  and  violets,  which 
are  to  them  a  protecting  forest  of  impenetrable 
wood.  The  casket  remains  empty,  and  the  terri- 
fied Gracieuse  is  on  the  point  of  falling  again  into 
the  power  of  her  bad  genius,  when  " 

"  When  the  amiable  Le'once — I  should  say,  the 
all  powerful  Prince  Percinet,"  resumed  Sabina, 
"  the  protege  of  good  fairies,  comes  to  her  assist- 
ance, and  with  a  stroke  of  his  wand,  causes 
parents  and  lovers,  scullions  and  spits,  musicians 
and  violins,  all  to  re-enter  the  box." 

"  Then  he  said  to  her,"  continued  Leonce, 
"  Know,  dear  Princess  Gracieuse,  that  you  are  not 
wise  enough  to  govern  the  world  of  your  fanta- 
sies. You  sow  them  by  handfuls  on  the  barren 
soil  of  reality,  and  then,  more  agile  and  cunning 
than  you,  they  escape  and  betray  you.  "Without 


JEALOUSY.  103 

me,  they  would  lose  themselves  like  the  insect 
which  the  eye  vainly  pursues  into  its  mysterious 
retreats  of  turf  and  leaves  ;  and  then  you  would 
find  yourself  alone,  with  fear  and  regret,  in  this 
solitary  and  disenchanted  place.  No  more  cool 
shadows,  no  more  murmuring  cascades,  no  more 
fragrant  flowers,  no  more  singing  and  dancing, 
or  laughing,  on  this  verdant  carpet :  no  more 
of  anything  but  the  wind  whistling  through  the 
leafless  trees,  and  the  distant  voices  of  savage 
beasts,  mounting  in  the  air  with  the  bloody 
star  of  night.  But  thanks  to  me,  whom  you 
shall  never  implore  in  vain,  your  treasures  are 
all  once  more  in  your  magic  box,  and  we  may 
follow  our  route,  certain  of  finding  them  when- 
ever we  wish,  and  wherever  we  may  halt  in  the 
kingdom  of  dreams." 


104: 


JEALOUSY. 


IV. 

FALSE  ROUTE. 

"  What  a  beautiful  story  !  I  must  try  to 
remember  it,  so  as  to  repeat  it  this  evening," 
said  the  bird-tamer,  whose  arm  Sabina  still 
retained. 

"  Prince  Percinet,"  cried  Lady  G  ,  passing 

her  other  arm  within  that  of  Leonce,  and  moving 
with  him  towards  the  carriage  awaiting  them — 
"you  are  my  good  genius,  and  I  surrender  to 
your  admirable  wisdom." 

"  I  hope  that  we  are  going  to  take  the  road 
leading  to  Saint  Apollinaire,"  said  the  Cure',  pla- 
cing himself  in  the  britzska,  at  the  side  of  Sabina, 
while  Le'once  and  Madeleine  were  seated  oppo- 
site. "I  am  sure  that  my  parishioners  are  already 
in  want  of  me  to  perform  some  sacrament." 

"  May  your  will  be  done,  dear  pastor,"  replied 
Le'once,  giving  orders  to  the  jockey. 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Sabina,  after  a  few  min- 


JEALOUSY.  105 

utes,  "must  we  retrace  our  steps,  and  see  the 
Bame  places  over  again  V9 

"  Give  yourself  no  uneasiness,"  replied  Leonce, 
pointing  to  the  Cure*,  whom  two  or  three  turns  of 
the  wheels  had  thrown  into  a  profound  slumber. 
"  We  will  go  wherever  it  pleases  us.  Turn  to  the 
right,"  said  he  to  the  young  charioteer,  "  and  take 
the  road  I  first  spoke  of." 

The  boy  obeyed,  and  the  Cure'  snored ! 

"  This  is  indeed  perfectly  delightful,"  said 
Sabina,  laughing  heartily.  "  To  carry  off  a  grum- 
bling old  Cure* ;  what  a  new  idea !  At  last,  I 
begin  to  perceive  how  much  pleasure  his  presence 
may  procure  for  us.  How  surprised  he  will  be, 
and  how  he  will  growl  when  he  wakes  up,  and 
finds  himself  two  leagues  from  this  place  I" 

"  Neither  you  nor  our  good  Cure*  are  at  the  end 
of  your  impressions  of  travel,"  replied  Le'once. 

"  Come,  little  one,  tell  me  your  history,  and 
confess  your  sin,"  said  Sabina — taking  with  irre- 
sistible grace  the  two  hands  of  the  bird-tamer,  as 
they  were  seated  face  to  face.  "  Leonce,  you 
must  not  listen — these  are  women's  secrets." 

"  Oh  !  His  lordship  may  listen  to  everything," 
replied  Madeleine,  with  perfect  self-possession. 
"  My  sin  is  not  so  heavy,  nor  are  my  secrets  so 
great,  that  I  cannot  easily  speak  of  them.    If  M. 


106  JEALOUSY. 

le  Cure*  were  not  in  the  habit  of  interrupting  me 
at  every  word  of  my  confession  with  his  scold- 
ings, but  would  listen  to  it,  he  would  not  be  so 
displeased  with  me  ;  or  at  least,  he  would  perhaps 
make  me  understand  in  what  respect  I  give  him 
cause  for  so  much  anger.  I  have  a  good  friend, 
your  highness,"  she  added,  addressing  Sabina, 
"  and  that  is  the  whole  story." 

"  I  find  it  more  difficult  to  preserve  my  gravity 

than  one  might  suppose,"  said  Lady  G   to 

Leonce.  "  So  much  candor  renders  questions  em- 
barrassing." 

w  Not  as  embarrassing  as  you  may  think,"  he 
replied.  u  See  here,  Madeleine,  does  he  love  you 
much?" 

"  He  loves  me  as  much  as  I  love  him." 

"  And  do  you  not  love  him  too  much  ?" 
demanded  Lady  G  . 

"  Too  much  ?  That  is  a  droll  question  !  I  love 
him  as  much  as  I  can.  I  do  not  know  if  it  is  too 
much  or  not  enough." 

"  How  old  is  he  ?"  said  Leonce. 

"  I  do  not  know.  He  has  told  me,  but  I  do  not 
remember.  But  wait  a  moment  .  .  . !  He  is  at 
least  ten  years  older  than  I.  I  am  fourteen  years 
old,  and  that  would  make  twenty-four  or  twenty- 
five  years ;  would  it  not  ?" 


JEALOUSY.  107 

"  Then  there  is  great  danger  for  you.  You  are 
too  young  to  be  married,  Madeleine." 

"  Too  young  by  a  year  or  two.  That  fault  will 
Boon  be  remedied." 

"  But  your  lover  may  become  impatient  ?" 

"  No.    He  does  not  speak  of  it." 

"  So  much  the  worse  !  And  you,  are  you  also 
as  indifferent  ?" 

"  I  must  be.  I  cannot  make  time  travel  as  I 
can  make  the  birds  fly." 

"  And  you  both  intend  to  be  married  to  each 
other?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  We  have  never  spoken 
of  it." 

"  But  do  you  not  yourself  wish  it  V 
"  Not  yet,  for  I  am  too  young." 
"And  if  he  does  not  marry  you?"  said  Lady 
G  . 

"  Oh  !  That  is  impossible.  He  loves  me." 
"  Has  he  loved  you  long  ?"  resumed  Sabina. 
"  A  week." 

"  Oime  /"  said  Leonce.  "  And  you  already 
have  so  much  confidence  in  him  ?" 

"  Doubtless,  since  he  has  told  me  that  he  loves 
me." 

"  And  do  you  thus  believe  everybody  who 
*   speaks  to  you  of  love  ?" 


108 


JEALOUSY. 


"  No  one  has  ever  yet  spoken  to  me  of  love  but 
he :  and  he  is  the  only  one  I  shall  believe  as  long 
as  I  live,  because  he  is  the  only  one  I  love." 

"  Ah  !  Cure,"  said  Sabina,  casting  a  glance  upon 
the  sleeping  growler  j  "  here  is  something  you  can 
not  comprehend !    It  is  faith,  it  is  love." 

"  No,  madam,"  resumed  the  bird-tamer,  "  he 
cannot  comprehend  it.  He  said  at  the  beginning, 
that  no  one  knew  my  lover,  and  that  he  must  be 
a  bad  fellow.  Now,  the  truth  is  very  simple.  He 
is  a  stranger  here,  and  chanced  to  stop  at  our  cabin ; 
he  has  neither  relations  nor  friends  to  speak  a  good 
word  for  him ;  and  he  has  remained  with  us  ever 
since,  because  he  saw  me  and  was  pleased  with 
me.  Thus  I  am  the  only  person  who  knows  him, 
and  who  can  say  that  he  is  an  honest  man.  M.  le 
Cure'  wants  him  to  leave  the  country,  and  threat- 
ens to  send  the  gens  oVarmes  after  him  to  drive  him 
away.  I  do  all  in  my  power  to  conceal  him,  and 
certainly  that  is  not  strange." 

"  Where  do  you  conceal  him  ?" 

"  In  my  cabin." 

"  Have  you  parents  V 

"  I  have  a  brother,  who  is — with  your  permis- 
sion, a  smuggler — but  you  must  not  mention  it, 
even  to  M.  le  Cure'." 

"  And,  therefore,  he  passes  the  nights  out  in  the 


JEALOUSY.  109 
mountains,  and  takes  his  rest  during  the  day ;  is  it 
not  so?"  said  Leonce. 

"  Nearly ;  but  he  knows  that  my  good  friend 
sleeps  in  his  bed  when  he  is  absent  from  home." 

"  And  is  he  not  displeased  at  that?" 

"  "No ;  he  has  a  good  heart." 

"  And  is  he  not  uneasy  ?" 

"  For  what  should  he  be  uneasy  ?" 

"  Does  your  brother  love  you  much  ?" 

"  Oh !  he  is  too  good  to  me ;  we  have  been  or- 
phans a  long  time,  and  he  has  been  both  father 
and  mother  to  me." 

"  I  think  we  may  be  perfectly  easy  regarding 
her,"  said  Lady  G  to  her  friend. 

"  For  the  present,  yes,"  he  replied ;  "  but  for 
the  future?  I  fear,  Madeleine,  that  your  good 
friend  will,  some  day,  take  his  departure,  either 
from  compulsion  or  inclination,  and  leave  you  to 
weep." 

"  If  he  goes,  I  will  follow  him." 
"  And  your  birds  ?" 

"  They  will  go  with  me.  I  sometimes  travel  ten 
leagues  with  them." 

"  Do  they  follow  you  now  ? 

"  You  do  not  see  them,  then,  flying  from  tree 
to  tree,  the  whole  length  of  the  road  ?  They  do 
not  come  near  me,  because  I  am  not  alone,  and 


110 


JEALOUSY. 


the  carriage  scares  them;  but  I  see  them  very 
plainly,  and  they  see  me,  poor  little  creatures." 

"  The  world  covers  more  than  ten  leagues;  sup- 
pose your  good  friend  should  carry  you  more  than 
a  hundred  leagues  from  here  ?" 

"  Wherever  I  shall  go,  there  will  be  birds,  and 
I  will  make  them  know  me." 

"  But  will  you  not  regret  those  you  have  brought 
up?" 

"  Oh !  certainly  I  shall.  There  are  two  or  three 
that  have  as  much  intelligence  as  M.  le  Cure  him- 
self. My  good  friend  is  the  only  one  I  know,  who 
has  more.  But  I  assure  you  that  all  my  birds  will 
follow  me,  as  I  shall  follow  my  good  friend.  They 
begin  to  know  him,  and  do  not  fly  away  when  he 
is  with  me." 

"  Provided  your  good  friend  is  not  more  volatile 
than  the  birds !"  said  Sabina.  "  Is  he  then  very 
handsome,  this  good  friend  ?" 

"  I  think  he  is ;  I  do  not  know." 

"  You  dare  not,  then,  look  at  him  ?"  said  Le'once. 

"  Yes,  indeed !  I  look  at  him  when  he  is  asleep, 
and  he  seems  to  me  as  beautiful  as  the  sun,  but  I 
do  not  know  that  others  would  think  so." 

"  When  he  is  asleep !  You  enter  into  his  cham- 
ber, then?" 

"  I  have  not  the  trouble  of  entering  it,  since  I 
sleep  there  myself.    We  are  not  rich,  your  high- 


JEALOUSY.  Ill 

ness  ;  we  have  but  one  room  for  us  all,  including 
my  goat  and  mj  brother's  horse." 

"  That  is  really  primitive  life.  But  it  seems  you 
do  not  sleep  much,  since  you  pass  the  night  in 
contemplating  your  good  friend." 

"  Oh  !  that  only  occupies  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
or  so  after  he  is  asleep.  He  goes  to  bed  and  falls 
asleep,  while  I,  with  my  back  to  him,  recite  my 
prayers  at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Sometimes, 
however,  I  forget  myself,  and  look  at  him  longer 
than  I  am  aware  of.  But  sleep  soon  overtakes  me, 
and  I  seem  to  sleep  better  afterwards." 

"From  which  it  results,  nevertheless,  that  he 
sleeps  more  than  you  ?" 

"  But  he  sleeps  very  well,  and  why  should  he 
not?  Our  house  is  clean,  though  poor,  and  I  al- 
ways take  great  pains  in  making  his  bed." 

"  He  never  wakes,  then,  to  look  at  you  while 
you  are  asleep  ?" 

"  It  may  be  ;  I  do  not  think  he  does ;  I  sleep  as 
lightly  as  a  bird." 

"  He  loves  you,  then,  less  than  you  love  him  ?" 

"  It  is  possible,"  tranquilly  replied  the  bird- 
tamer,  after  a  moment's  reflection ;  "  and  that  may 
very  well  be,  since  I  am  too  young  to  marry." 

"  In  short,  you  feel  certain  that  he  will  one  day 
love  you  enough  to  marry  you  ?" 

"  He  has  never  promised  me  that  he  would,  but 


112  JEALOUSY. 

he  says  to  me  every  day,  "  Madeleine,  you  are 
good  as  an  angel,  and  I  never  wish  to  leave  you. 
It  makes  me  very  unhappy  to  think  that  soon, 
perhaps,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  go  away."  I  never 
make  him  any  answer,  but  I  am  determined  to 
follow  him,  so  that  he  shall  not  be  unhappy;  and, 
since  he  finds  me  good,  and  desires  never  to  leave 
me,  it  is  certain  he  will  marry  me  when  I  am  of 
the  proper  age." 

"  Oh,  Leonce  1"  said  Sabina  in  English,  to  her 
friend,  "let  us  admire,  and  be  careful  not  to  disturb 
the  holy  faith  with  which  this  child's  soul  overflows. 
It  is  possible  that  her  lover  will  seduce  and  abandon 
her;  it  is  possible  that  she  will  be  crushed  by 
shame  and  grief ;  but  yet,  in  her  disaster,  there 
would  still  be  an  existence  worthy  of  envy.  I 
would  give  all  that  I  have  ever  lived,  all  that  I 
shall  yet  live,  for  one  day  of  this  boundless  love, 
without  reservation,  without  hesitation,  blindly 
sublime,  penetrating  every  pore  of  my  being." 

"  She  certainly  lives  in  an  ecstasy,  and  her  pas- 
sion transfigures  her,"  said  Le*once.  "  See  how 
charming  she  is  when  speaking  of  him  she  loves, 
although  nature  has  bestowed  upon  her  none  of 
those  attractions  which  render  you  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  women.  Indeed,  she  is  at  this  moment 
handsomer  than  you.  Do  you  not  think  so,  your- 
self?" 


JEALOUSY.  113 

"  You  have  a  strange  way  of  saying  rude  things, 
but  you  cannot  wound  me  to-day,  do  what  you 
will.  Your  friendship  is,  nevertheless,  most  piti- 
less in  its  demonstrations.  Surely,  my  misfortune 
in  not  having  hitherto  known  this  ecstatic  love,  is 
already  sufficiently  great,  without  the  addition  of 
your  reproaches,  just  at  the  moment  in  which  I 
fathom  the  extent  of  my  misery.  If  I  thought  to 
revenge  myself  on  you,  might  I  not  say  that  you 
are  as  miserable  as  I,  fully  as  incapable  of  blind 
confidence  and  boundless  love  ?  that,  in  fact,  the 
same  abyss  of  knowledge  and  experience  separates 
both  of  us  from  the  condition  of  soul  in  which  we 
find  this  child?" 

"Of  that  you  know  nothing,  nothing  what- 
ever," replied  Leonce,  with  an  .energy  which 
rendered  it  impossible  to  interpret  the  almost  im- 
perceptible emotion  of  his  voice :  his  eyes  wan- 
dered over  the  landscape. 

"  What   a  frightful  country  we  are  passing 

through,"  said  Lady  G  ,  breaking  a  long 

silence.  "  These  naked  rocks,  this  angry  torrent, 
this  narrow  patch  of  sky  walled  in  by  mountains, 
this  oppressive  heat,  and  the  heavy  slumber  of  this 
churchman,  all  combine  to  give  me  a  wofully 
gloomy  and  terror-stricken  feeling." 

"A  little  patience,"  said  L6once.  ""We  shall 
soon  be  indemnified."  7 


114  JEALOUSY. 

And  in  truth,  the  contracted  and  sterile  gorge 
suddenly  expanded  as  they  ascended  the  hill,  and 
a  delicious  valley,  cast  like  an  oasis  in  a  desert, 
met  Sabina's  charmed  gaze.  Other  mountainous 
defiles,  as  deep  and  narrow,  opened  into  this  ver- 
dant amphitheatre,  and  mingled  their  calm  and 
smooth  waters  with  those  of  the  principal  course. 

Their  greenish  torrents  were  clear  as  crystal ; 
carpets  of  emeralds  covered  each  bank,  and  the 
silence  of  this  solitude  was  only  disturbed  by  the 
noise  of  murmuring  streams  and  the  distant  tink- 
ling of  cow-bells.  Far  up  the  opening  made  by 
these  granite  gorges,  the  eye  took  in  long  vistas  of 
blue  perspective,  while,  at  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tains, meandered  sparkling,  silver  waters.  It  was 
an  enchanting  spot,  where  everything  invited  to 
repose,  and  where  also  the  imagination  continually 
soared  into  mysterious  regions  of  the  unknown. 

"  What  a  ravishing  surprise !"  said  Sabina, 
stepping  from  the  carriage  upon  the  fine  sand  that 
covered  the  bank.  "  Here  is  a  charming  asylum 
against  the  noonday  heat,  which  is  becoming  intol- 
erable. Suppose,  Le'once,  that  we  leave  our  equi- 
page and  quit  the  beaten  track.  Here  are  some 
nice,  well-trodden  paths,  this  tree  thrown  across 
the  torrent  may  serve  as  a  bridge ;  farther  beyond, 
there  are  plenty  of  flowers  to  gather,  and  a  thicket 
of  firs,  which  promises  a  delightful  shade  and  fra- 


JEALOUSY. 


115 


grant  odors.  The  absence  of  cultivation,  and  the 
remoteness  of  every  thing  appertaining  to  civilized 
life,  gives  the  spot  a  peculiar  fascination." 

"  Yes,  you  are  really  in  the  heart  of  the  moun- 
tains. Here,  we  begin  to  find  the  homes  of  the 
nomadic  shepherds,  who  live  after  the  manner  of 
primitive  ages,  conducting  their  flocks  from  one 
pasturage  to  another,  exploring  deserts  that  belong 
only  to  him  who  discovers  and  takes  possession, 
inhabiting  temporary  cabins  built  by  their  own 
hands,  which  they  transport  from  one  place  to 
another  on  the  back  of  an  ass,  and  set  up  on  the 
first  convenient  rock.  Look  up  there  towards  the 
clouds,  and  you  will  see  several  of  them.  They 
are  never  found  in  the  lower  regions  of  the  moun- 
tains. One  stormy  day  would  so  swell  the  torrents 
as  to  wash  them  all  away.  This  is  the  hour  of 
siesta,  and  the  herdsmen  are  sleeping  beneath  their 
verdant  roofs.  Behold  yourself,  then,  in  a  desert, 
with  perfect  liberty  to  choose  the  spot  where  it 
shall  please  you  to  taste  an  hour  or  two  of  sleep, 
while  the  horses  are  resting  from  their  toils  and 
gathering  fresh  strength.  I  have  it !  the  thicket  so 
attractive  to  you  is  the  very  spot.  Lele  shall  sus- 
pend your  hammock  there." 

"  My  hammock  !  And  is  it  possible  you  should 
have  thought  to  bring  that  ?" 

"  Is  it  not  my  duty  to  think  of  everything  ?" 


i 

116  JEALOUSY. 

Hie  n  egress  L6\6  followed  them,  carrying  the 
net- work  hammock,  made  of  the  fibre  of  the  palm 
tree,  bordered  with  fringes,  and  tassels,  and  feath- 
ers, of  a  thousand  hues,  artistically  intermingled. 

Madeleine,  enraptured  with  this  specimen  of 
Indian  workmanship,  ran  alongside  of  the  negress, 
asking  her  innumerable  questions  about  the  mar- 
vellous birds  that  had  furnished  these  brilliant  fea- 
thers, trying  to  form  some  idea  of  the  parrots  and 
humming-birds,  which  Lele*,  in  her  mysterious  and 
almost  unintelligible  jargon,  attempted  to  describe. 

Every  one  had  forgotten  the  Cure',  who,  no 
longer  rocked  by  the  swinging  and  regular  motion 
of  the  carriage,  at  last  awoke. 

"  Corpo  di  Bacco  /"  (This  was  the  only  oath  he 
allowed  himself) — cried  he,  rubbing  his  eyes, 
"  where  are  we,  and  what  bad  joke  is  this  V9 

"  Alas !  Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  said  the  jockey,  who 
was  as  malicious  as  a  page,  and  fully  appreciated 
the  facetious  caprices  of  his  master.  "  We  are  lost 
in  the  mountains,  and  we  none  of  us  know  where 
we  are,  any  more  than  you  do.  My  horses  are 
tired,  and  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  we  should 
stop  here." 

"  Keally,"  said  the  Curd,  "  we  cannot  be  far  from 
Saint  Apollinaire ;  I  have  been  asleep  only  a  few 
minutes." 


JEALOUSY.  117 

"Your  pardon,  Monsieur  l'Abbe,  "you  have 
been  asleep  four  hours." 

"  No,  no !  You  are  mistaken,  my  lad.  The  sun 
is  now  perpendicularly  over  our  heads,  and  it  can- 
not be  later  than  twelve  o'clock,  that  is,  if  he  has 
not  stopped  in  his  course,  as  happened  to  him  once 
before.  You  must,  then,  have  travelled  like  the 
wind,  for  we  are  more  than  four  leagues  distant 
from  the  Roche  Vert.  I  arn  certain  of  it ;  here  is 
the  neck  of  La  JFbrquette,  for  I  recognize  Saint 
Basil's  Cross.  It  is  only  two  steps  to  the  frontier. 
Stay !  On  the  other  side  of  these  high  mountains 
is  Italy,  beautiful  Italy,  on  whose  soil  it  has  never 
yet  been  my  happiness  to  tread !  But,  Corpo  di 
Bacco!  if  you  are  going  to  stop  here,  if  your 
beasts  are  tired,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  return  to  my 
parish  before  night." 

"  And  how  angry  your  housekeeper  will  be !" 
said  the  malicious  groom,  in  a  dolorous  tone. 

"  Uneasy,  surely,"  replied  the  Cure*,  "  very  un- 
easy, poor  Barbara !  Well,  she  must  bear  her  mis- 
fortune patiently.  Where  are  their  excellencies?" 

"  Below  there,  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream. 
Do  you  not  see  them  V 

"  What  caprice  has  impelled  them  to  cross  that 
frail  plank  1  I  am  not  anxious  to  risk  my  weight 
upon  it.    Now,  if  I  had  at  least  a  line  with  me,  I 


118 


JEALOUSY. 


might  catch  some  trout.  This  place  is  celebrated 
for  them." 

The  Cure*,  herewith,  began  to  search  his  pockets, 
and,  to  his  great  satisfaction,  found  several  lines 
with  hooks  attached.  The  j  ockey  assisted  him  to  cut 
a  pole  and  find  bait,  and  maliciously  offered  a  book 
with  which  to  beguile  the  time.  The  good  man  used 
no  ceremony  ;  but  took  Wilhelm  Meister  as  much 
from  curiosity  to  know  the  principles  of  his  com- 
panions, as  to  divert  himself,  and  re-ascending  the 
course  of  the  stream,  he  seated  himself  among  the 
rocks,  with  his  attention  divided  between  the  arti- 
fices of  the  trout,  and  those  of  Philine.  He  was 
just  at  the  place  of  les petits  souliers  when  the  first 
trout  nibbled.  History  does  not  inform  us  whether 
he  closed  the  book  or  lost  the  fish. 

Meantime  the  black  Lele  and  the  blond  bird- 
tamer  had  firmly  attached  the  hammock  to  the 
branches  of  the  fir  trees.  The  beautiful  Sabina, 
gracefully  reclining  upon  this  aerial  couch,  pre- 
sented herself  to  the  gaze  of  Leonce,  in  an  attitude 
of  chaste  voluptuousness.  Her  large  silk  sleeves 
were  turned  back  to  the  elbow,  and  the  tip  of  her 
small  foot,  just  peeping  out  below  her  dress,  hung 
down  amid  the  fringe  of  feathers,  less  delicate  and 
light  than  it. 

Ldonce  had  thrown  his  cloak  upon  the  grass,  and 


JEALOUSY 


119 


seated  on  it  at  the  feet  of  the  handsome  woman, 
he  slightly  pulled  the  cord  attached  to  the  ham- 
mock, so  as  to  give  it  a  gently  undulating  motion. 
Lele  also  arranged  herself  comfortably  for  a  siesta 
on  the  grass,  while  Madeleine  penetrated  into  the 
thickest  of  the  woods,  followed  at  every  step  by 
the  cries  of  birds,  like  a  flourish  of  trumpets  in 
celebration  of  the  march  of  a  sovereign. 

Sabina  and  Le*once  thus  found  themselves  placed 
in  rather  an  exciting  tete-a-tete,  for  burning  ideas, 
clothed  as  they  were  in  freezing  terms,  had  been 
agitated  between  them.  Leonce  remained  pro- 
foundly silent,  and  fixed  upon  Lady  G  ,  a 

penetrating  gaze,  which,  although  it  expressed 
nothing  tender,  she  found  extremely  embarrassing. 

"Why  don't  you  answer  me?"  said  she,  after 
having  vainly  endeavored  to  engage  him  in  light 
conversation.  "  You  certainly  hear  me,  for  you 
look  at  my  eyes  with  an  obstinacy  that  must  be 
very  tiresome  to  you." 

"  I !"  said  he.  "  I  am  not  looking  at  your  eyes. 
They  are  stars  which  shine  only  for  the  purpose  of 
shining,  without  communicating  any  of  their  glow 
and  warmth  to  the  eyes  of  men.  I  am  looking  at 
your  arm  and  the  folds  of  your  robe  outlined  by 
the  wind." 


120 


JEALOUSY. 


"  Yes ;  sleeves  and  drapery,  that  is  the  only  ideal 
for  you  artists." 

"  Does  it  displease  yon  to  be  regarded  as  a  fine 
model?" 

"  Provided  I  am  only  such  to  you,  I  am  satisfied," 
said  she  haughtily,  for  the  eyes  of  Leonce  no  longer 
expressed  the  cold  contemplation  of  the  statuary. 
At  these  disdainful  words,  they  resumed  their  in- 
difference. 

"  You  would  make  a  superb  Sybil,"  he  remarked, 
pretending  not  to  have  heard  her. 

"  No.  I  have  not  dishevelled  hair,  nor  a  wild, 
passionate  nature. 

"  The  Sybils  of  the  Renaissance  are  grand  and 
severe.  Have  you  not  seen  those  of  Raphael? 
they  combine  the  grandeur  and  majesty  of  the  an- 
tique with  the  movement  and  thought  of  another 
age." 

"  Alas !  I  have  never  been  in  Italy.    Once  we 

touched  its  borders,  but  Lord  G  ,  seized  by  a 

ferocious  caprice,  was  pleased  to  install  himself  on 
the  frontier,  as  if  on  purpose  to  tantalize  me  into 
a  fever,  and  then  prevented  my  going  any  farther, 
under  pretext  that  it  was  too  hot  for  me." 

"While,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  too  cold  for 
you.  Certainly,  your  husband  is  the  man  who 
comprehends  you  least  of  any  one." 


JEALOUSY. 


121 


"  It  is  the  eternal  order  of  things." 

"  Whence  it  follows,  that  you  ought  to  adore 
your  husband,  since  he  is  the  indefatigable  adula- 
tor of  your  assertion  that  you  are  not  compre- 
hended." 

"  And  you — you  claim  to  comprehend  me  better 
than  my  husband  does.  To  tell  me  so,  does  not 
prove  to  me  that  you  are  right." 

"  And  if  I  prove  it  to  you  this  very  instant  ?" 
said  Leonce,  rising,  and  stopping  the  hammock  so 
rudely  as  to  draw  forth  a  cry  of  terror  from  Lady 
G  .  "  If  I  should  say  to  you,  that  there  is  no- 
thing to  comprehend  where  nothing  exists,  and 
that  this  marble  breast  conceals  a  marble  heart?" 

"Ah,  what  terrible  words!"  said  Lady  G  , 

putting  her  feet  to  the  ground,  as  if  to  take  flight. 
"I  will  never  forgive  you,  Leonce,  for  having 
brought  me  hither.  Your  conduct  is  the  refine- 
ment of  perfidy  and  cruelty.  You  rescue  me 
from  my  sad  indifference,  you  surround  me  with 
delicate  cares  and  attentions,  you  wander  with  me 
'mid  the  beauties  of  nature,  you  delight  me  with 
the  poetry  of  your  thoughts,  you  flatter  my  foolish 
imagination, — all  this  you  do  merely  to  tell  me, 
after  fifteen  years  of  friendship  without  a  cloud, 
that  you  no  longer  esteem — nay !  you  actually 
hate  me  !" 


122 


JEALOUSY. 


"  Of  what  do  you  complain,  Madam  ?  You  are 
a  woman  of  the  world,  and  you  wish,  beyond 
everything  else,  to  be  respected  as  a  virtuous 
woman  of  that  very  world.  "Well,  I  declare  you 
invulnerable,  I,  who  have  known  you  fifteen 
years,  and  yet  your  pride  is  not  satisfied  !" 

"  Virtuous  from  insensibility  !  Virtuous,  be- 
cause heartless  !  What  a  strange  eulogy !  Well 
may  I  take  pride  in  it  I" 

"  And,  indeed,  you  possess  an  immense  pride, 
allied  to  an  immense  vanity,"  replied  Leonce,  with 
increasing  irritation.  "  You  wish  it  to  be  under- 
stood that  you  are  impeccable,  and  that  the  purest 
crystal  is  dim  by  the  side  of  your  glory.  But 
that  does  not  suffice.  You  desire  to  have  it  be- 
lieved that  your  soul  is  ardent,  and  that  there  is 
nothing  so  powerful  as  your  love,  excepting,  per- 
haps, your  strength.  If  a  man  is  calm  and  self- 
possessed  in  presence  of  your  wisdom,  you  are 
uneasy  and  discontented.  You  would  have  him 
torment  himself  to  divine  the  mystery  of  love 
which  you  pretend  is  concealed  in  your  bosom. 
You  would  have  him  believe  that  you  hold  the 
key  to  a  paradise  of  voluptuousness  and  ineffable 
tenderness,  which  nothing  can  penetrate ;  in  short, 
you  would  have  him  experience  all  the  paroxysms 
of  love,  jealousy,  and  disappointment,  with  their 


JEALOUSY.  123 

intolerable  sufferings.  Avow  this,  and  you  will 
have  proclaimed  the  secret  of  your  ennui,  for 
there  is  no  role  more  tiresome  to  play,  or  more 
bitter  in  its  results,  than  that  to  which  you  have 
sacrificed  all  the  hopes  of  your  youth,  and  all  the 
advantages  of  your  beauty." 

"  It  is  beneath  me  to  attempt  my  justification," 
replied  Sabina,  pale  and  trembling  with  indigna- 
tion ;  "  but  you  have  given  me  the  right,  in  my 
turn,  to  judge  you.  This  portrait  which  you  have 
drawn  of  me,  is  your  own  ;  it  requires  only  to  be 
adapted  to  the  size  of  a  man,  and  I  am  going  to 
do  it." 


V. 

THE  FAWN. 

"  Speak,  Madam,"  said  Leonce.  "  I  shall  be 
only  too  happy  to  see  myself  through  your  eyes." 

"  You  will  not  be,  I  assure  you,"  continued  Sa- 
bina, greatly  provoked,  but  externally  calm.  "  Man 
and  artist,  intelligent  and  handsome,  rich  and  pa- 
trician, you  know  yourself  to  be  a  privileged 
being.  Nature  and  society  having  thus  generously 
endowed  you,  you  have  ardently  seconded  them, 


124  JEALOUSY. 

stimulated  as  you  have  been  from  earliest  child- 
hood by  the  desire  to  be  an  accomplished  man. 
You  have  so  well  cultivated  your  brilliant  talents, 
and  so  nobly  governed  your  fortune,  as  to  have 
become  a  most  exquisite  artist  and  a  most  liberal 
rich  man.  If  you  had  been  born  poor  and  ob- 
scure, you  would  have  had  more  difficulty  and 
more  merit  in  conquering  the  palm  of  glory.  You 
would  also  have  had  more  endurance  and  more 
fire,  less  science  and  more  genius.  In  place  of  a 
talent  of  the  first  order,  always  correct  and  often 
cold,  you  would  have  had  an  unequal  but  a  glow- 
ing inspiration." 

"  Ah  !  Madam,"  said  Leonce,  interrupting  her, 
"  you  have  but  little  invention,  for  you  are  only 
repeating  what  I  myself  have  said  a  hundred 
times.  But,  at  the  same  time,  you  do  me  justice 
concerning  another  point,  that  the  man  of  the 
people  is  equal  to,  and  in  many  respects  surpasses, 
the  man  of  the  world." 

"  You  think  to  prove  a  noble  heart  and  a  great 
mind  by  saying  such  things  ?  It  is  a  fashion,  a 
most  refined  and  elegant  fashion,  which  is  given 
to  but  few  individuals  to  wear  gracefully.  You 
never  carry  it  to  excess,  because  at  the  bottom  of 
your  heart,  you  are  not  less  aristocratic  than  I.  I 
should,  therefore,  utterly  distrust  the  possibility 


JEALOUSY. 


125 


of  your  being  seriously  in  love  with  the  bird- 
tamer,  notwithstanding  all  your  theories  of  God's 
direct  paternity  to  the  slave.  But' let  me  finish 
my  comparison,  and  you  will  see  that  you  have 
not  always  been  able  to  preserve  your  emphatic 
incognito  with  me.  Jealously  anxious  for  admira- 
tion, you  have  not  wasted  your  youth  in  frivolity, 
and  you  clearly  comprehend  that  a  man  is  not 
long  the  ideal  of  an  intelligent  woman,  if  he  is 
intimately  associated  with  her,  every  hour  of  his 
life.  Therefore,  you  have  never  loved,  and  it  has 
always  been  your  aim  to  affect  the  minds  of  our 
curious  sex,  without  allowing  us  to  influence  your 
own  will.  You  have  passions  and  indulge  them, 
I  know,  but  that  does  not  prove  my  assertions  un- 
founded. That  which  makes  the  essential  differ- 
ence between  you  and  me  is,  the  privilege  of  your 
sex;  it  also  makes  my  pride  more  meritorious 
than  yours.  You  have  not  sacrificed  vulgar  plea- 
sures to  the  cultivation  of  your  dignity.  Your 
models  have  been  models  of  choice,  maidens, 
young  and  supremely  beautiful,  so  that  you  would 
have  no  cause  to  blush  before  the  eyes  of  the 
world  for  having  made  them  your  mistresses. 
These  divine  children  of  the  people!  You  per- 
suaded yourself  that  you  loved  them,  and,  to 
pique  the  self-love  of  women  of  the  world,  you 


126  JEALOUSY. 

affected  to  say  that  physical  beauty  involved 
moral  beauty,  and  that,  in  the  simplicity  of  these 
uncultivated  minds,  was  to  be  found  the  temple 
of  true  love.  They  are  truths,  perhaps,  I  know 
not,  but  they  are  truths  in  which  you  have  never 
believed,  even  while  proclaiming  them,  for  none 
of  these  plebeian  divinities  have  ever  completely 
captivated  or  fixed  you  for  any  length  of  time. 
Statuary — you  have  regarded  them  only  as  statues 
— and  as  for  women  of  your  own  class,  you  have 
never  really  sought  those  of  intellect.  With  them, 
you  play  precisely  the  same  role  you  attribute  to 
me,  spreading  out  before  them,  with  consummate 
art  and  poetic  eloquence,  the  power  of  the  By- 
ronic  passions,  and  yet  permitting  no  one  to  ap- 
proach near  enough  your  heart  to  pluck  thence 
the  moth  of  vanity  which  destroys  its  life." 

Leonce  remained  silent  a  long  while  after  Sabina 
had  ceased  speaking.  He  appeared  profoundly 
cast  down,  and  this  sadness,  offering  no  resistance 
to  the  whip  of  his  censor,  rendered  him  at  that 
moment  superior  to  the  vindictive  woman  who 
lashed  him.  Sabina  herself  perceived  it,  and  fully 
comprehended  that  penchant  for,  or  rather,  irre- 
sistible submission  to  truth  so  thoroughly  perva- 
ding the  male  character,  but  which  the  education 
and  habits  of  women  aim,  too  victoriously,  to  com- 


JEALOUSY.  127 

bat.  She  felt  remorse  for  having  given  way  to 
her  passion,  as  she  saw  how  Leonce  reproached 
himself  for  his  own  conduct,  and  with  what  dis- 
may he  probed  his  heart.  She  would  have  given 
much  to  console  him  for  the  pain  her  words  had 
inflicted,  but  the  suspicion  that  his  thoughtfulness 
concealed  only  some  project  of  deep  hatred  or 
refined  vengeance,  kept  her  silent.  This  fear 
struck  her  to  the  heart,  for  she,  as  well  as  Le'once, 
was  better  than  her  portrait,  and  the  sources  of 
affection  were  not  dried  up  within  her.  She  tried 
in  vain  to  repress  her  tears;  Leonce- heard  her 
sobs,  and  kneeling  at  her  feet,  took  her  hand 
within  his  own  and  said, 
"  Why  do  you  weep  ?" 

"  I  weep  our  lost  friendship,"  she  replied,  lean- 
ing towards  him,  and  letting  fall  her  tears  on  his 
beautiful  hair.  "  We  have  mortally  wounded 
each  other,  Leonce  ;  there  is  no  more  love  between 
us.  But  now  that  it  is  all  over  ;  now  that  there  is 
no  longer  danger  that  love  will  spoil  the  Past,  let 
me  weep  over  that  Past,  so  pure  and  beautiful. 
Let  me  confess  to  you,  what  you  have  apparently 
not  comprehended,  since  in  the  lightness  of  your 
heart,  you  have  dared  to  enter  upon  this  deadly 
struggle.  I  have  loved  you  with  a  tender  and  ear- 
nest friendship  ;  I  have  reposed  on  your  heart  as 


128  JEALOUSY. 

upon  that  of  a  brother ;  and  I  have  thought  to 
seek  of  you  counsel  and  protection  as.  long  as  my 
life  shall  last.  Your  faults  have  appeared  to  me 
insignificant,  your  talents  and  virtues  great.  But 
now,  adieu,  Leonce.  Take  me  back  to  my  husband. 
With  reason  did  you  predict  that  I  should  this  day 
experience  unforeseen  emotions ;  unforeseen,  in- 
deed, and  so  terrible,  that  their  remembrance  will 
never  leave  me.  I  could  have  anticipated  nothing 
so  bitter,  and  I  do  not  understand  why  you  should 
have  wished  to  give  me  so  painful  an  experience. 
Nevertheless,  at  this  moment,  when  I  feel  that  all 
is  ended  between  us,  I  feel  also  that  grief  surpasses 
anger,  and  that  our  last  adieu  must  not  be  a  male- 
diction." 

Sabina  touched  with  her  lips  the  forehead  of 
Le'once,  and  this  chaste  and  mournful  kiss,  the 
first  she  had  ever  bestowed  upon  him,  renewed 
the  bond  she  had  thought  broken. 

"  No,  my  dear  Sabina,"  said  he,  covering  her 
hands  with  passionate  kisses ;  "  this  is  not  an 
adieu  ;  the  tie  that  bound  us  together  is  not  bro- 
ken. You  are  more  dear  to  me  than  ever,  and  it 
shall  be  the  aim  of  my  life  to  win  back  the  affec- 
tion I  have  risked  losing  to-day.  With  patience 
I  shall  persevere  in  the  struggle,  until  at  last  you 
must  be  touched  by  my  devotion,  whether  you 


JEALOUSY.  129 

will  or  not.  Compose  yourself  there,  noble  friend  ; 
your  tears  fall  refreshingly  upon  my  heart,  as  the 
generous  dew  falls  upon  a  plant  ready  to  die. 
There  is  truth  in  what  we  have  mutually  said  to 
each  other  ;  much  truth,  but  it  is  relative,  not  ab- 
stract truth.  Understand  well  this  distinction. 
We  are  both  artists ;  neither  of  us  can  treat  a 
subject  spiritedly  without  viewing  it  from  a  logi- 
cal, a  plastic  point  of  view,  if  you  please,  so  that 
we  are  carried  from  consequence  to  consequence, 
until  we  have  formed  an  admirable  synthesis. 
But  this  synthesis  is,  I  am  certain,  a  fiction  for 
both  you  and  me.  We  possess  the  faults  with 
which  we  have  reproached  each  other  ;  but  these 
are  the  accidents  of  our  character  and  the  result 
of  circumstances.  In  looking  at  them  passionately 
we  have  been  inspired  to  transform  them  into 
essential  vices  of  our  nature,  into  shameless  habits 
of  conduct.  All  this  is  nothing,  however,  since 
here  we  are,  heart  to  heart,  weeping  over  the 
idea  of  separation,  and  feeling  that  it  is  impos- 
sible." 

"  Indeed,  Leonce,  you  are  right,"  said  Lady 

G  ,  brushing  away  a  tear,  and  passing  her 

beautiful  hands  across  his  eyes,  moved,  perhaps, 

by  unaffected  tenderness,  and  perhaps,  also,  by 

a  wish  to  convince  herself  that  the  drops  she 
8 


130  JEALOUSY. 

saw  glistening  on  his  cheeks  were  veritable  tears. 
"  We  have  done  with  art,  have  we  not  ?  and 
now  it  only  remains  for  us  to  decide  which  has 
been  the  most  skilful ;  that  is  to  say,  the  most 
deceitful." 

"  It  is  I,  for  I  began  the  play,  and  I  claim  the 
prize.    What  shall  it  be  ?" 
"  Your  pardon." 

"  And  a  long  kiss  on  this  beautiful  arm,  which 
has  already  caused  me  so  much  terror." 
"  See,  now,  you  are  an  artist  again." 
"Well,  why  not?" 

"  No  kisses,  Leonce — better  than  that.  Let  us 
pass  the  remainder  of  the  day  together ;  you  may 
resume  your  role  of  doctor,  provided  you  treat 
me  to  weaker  doses." 

"We  will  try  Homeopathy,"  said  Leonce,  kiss- 
ing the  arm  which  she  seemed  to  abandon  to 
him  mechanically,  but  which  she  instantly  with- 
drew, on  observing  that  the  negress  was  awake. 
"  Lie  down  again  in  your  hammock,  and  try  to 
get  some  sleep.  I  will  rock  you  very  gently; 
these  tears  have  wearied  you,  the  heat  is  extreme, 
and  we  must  wait  until  the  shadows  are  longer 
before  we  leave  the  woods." 

The  singularity  and  variableness  of  the  impres- 
sions of  Leonce  disturbed  Lady  G  .    His  eyes 


JEALOUSY.  131 

wore  an  expression  she  had  never  before  discov- 
ered in  them,  and  it  was  easy  for  her  to  perceive 
by  the  unsteady  motion  of  the  hammock,  that  he 
held  the  cord  with  a  trembling  and  agitated  hand. 
It  was  with  delight,  then,  that  she  welcomed  the 
reappearance  of  Madeleine,  who,  after  having 
teazed  the  negress  to  her  heart's  content,  by  tick- 
ling her  lips  and  eye-lids  with  a  blade  of  grass, 
approached  them  to  admire  the  hammock  and 
relieve  Ldonce,  against  his  will,  in  his  employ- 
ment. 

"  She  is  entirely  too  familiar ;  you  have  already 
spoiled  her,"  said  Ldonce,  in  English  to  Sabina. 
"  Let  me  drive  away  this  importunate  bird." 

"  No,  let  her  swing  me,"  replied  Lady  G  , 

with  evident  uneasiness.  "  Her  movements  are 
more  gentle  than  yours ;  moreover,  you  are  too 
intellectual  for  me  to  go  to  sleep  easily,  while 
you  are  near.  I  am  tired  of  being  served  on 
the  bended  knee." 

Whereupon  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  pretended 
to  sleep.  Ldonce  withdrew,  more  vexed  than 
ever.  He  forsook  the  wood,  and  wandered  about 
for  some  time,  at  random.  Presently,  he  per- 
ceived the  Cure'  fishing,  and  the  jocky  bearing 
him  company ;  the  carriage  was  drawn  up  in  the 
shade  of  a  clump  of  trees,  while  the  horses 


132 


JEALOUSY. 


grazed  at  liberty  in  an  adjoining  meadow.  Cer- 
tain of  finding  them  all  when  wanted,  Leonce 
plunged  into  a  savage  gorge  and  walked  as  rap- 
idly as  possible,  in  order  to  calm  his  over-excited 
and  troubled  mind.  The  silent  influences  of  beau- 
tiful nature  soon  dissipated  his  ill-humor.  After 
winding  round  numerous  craggy  rocks,  he  found 
himself  on  the  borders  of  a  microscopic  lake,  or 
rather  pool  of  water,  embosomed  in  a  granite 
basin.  Deep  and  brilliant  as  the  sky,  whose  gol- 
den clouds  and  heavenly  azure  were  reflected  on 
its  surface,  it  presented  an  image  of  happiness  in 
repose.  Leonce  seated  himself  on  the  bank  in 
the  cleft  of  a  rock,  which  there  formed  itself  into 
a  natural  staircase,  as  if  to  invite  the  traveler  to 
ascend  to  the  margin  of  these  tranquil  waters. 

For  a  time,  he  was  interested  in  watching  the 
insects  with  bodies  of  turquoise  and  rubies,  skim- 
ming the  surface  of  the  aquatic  plants;  then,  his 
attention  was  diverted  by  a  flock  of  pigeons, 
which,  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  the  lake,  attracted 
his  eye  as  it  flew  through  the  air  with  the  rapidity 
of  thought,  and  disappeared  like  a  vision.  Leonce 
said  to  himself,  that  the  pleasures  of  life  passed 
as  rapidly  and  as  indistinctly  away  from  us,  and 
that  like  this  reflection  of  the  flying  image,  they 
were  only  shadows.    The  next  moment,  it  seemed 


JEALOUSY.  133 

to  him  supremely  ridiculous  to  waste  time  in  tra- 
cing these  metaphorical  relations,  and  he  could 
not  refrain  from  envying  the  tranquillity  of  the 
Cure,  who  would  have  merely  looked  upon  this 
beautiful  lake  as  a  fine  reservoir  for  trout. 

Hearing  a  light  noise  above  his  head,  he  thought 
for  an  instant  that  Sabina  had  come  to  join  him, 
but  the  quick  beating  of  his  heart  at  the  antici- 
pation, subsided  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
individual  descending  the  rocky  stairs,  at  the  foot 
of  which  he  was  sitting. 

It  was  a  tall  young  fellow,  miserably  clad,  and 
carrying  a  small  bundle  tied  in  a  red  and  blue 
handkerchief,  and  fastened  to  the  end  of  a  stick, 
which  was  thrown  across  his  shoulders.  His  rags, 
his  long  hair,  falling  in  masses  over  pale  and 
strongly  marked  features,  his  thick  beard,  black 
as  ink,  his  careless  gait  and  a  sort  of  indescribable 
air  of  contempt,  which  characterizes  the  manners 
of  a  vagabond  when  he  meets  a  gentleman  face 
to  face,  all  gave  him  the  aspect  of  a  real  scape- 
grace. 

The  thought  occurred  to  Le'once  that  the  spot 
was  very  lonely,  and  that  the  stranger  had  all  the 
advantage  of  position ;  the  path  being  too  narrow 
for  two,  but  an  instant  would  be  required  to  dis- 
pute its  passage,  and  throw  into  the  silent  and 


134  JEALOUSY. 

mysterious  depths  of  the  lake,  the  one  who  had 
not  the  best  fists  and  the  best  place. 

With  this  contingency  in  view,  which,  however, 
gave  Le'once  but  little  uneasiness,  he  assumed  an 
indifferent  manner,  and  awaited  with  philosophi- 
cal calmness  the  encounter  with  the  Unknown. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  with  some  little  impatience 
that  he  counted  the  steps  as  they  sounded  on  the 
rock,  until  he  heard  the  last,  and  found  the  vaga- 
bond at  his  side. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  if  I  disturb  you,"  said  the 
stranger,  in  a  sonorous  voice,  and  with  a  strongly 
marked  southern  accent,  "  but  would  you  have 
the  courtesy  to  stand  aside,  so  that  I  may  take  a 
drink?" 

"  With  pleasure,"  replied  Le'once,  allowing  him 
to  pass,  and  stepping  up  so  as  to  place  himself  di- 
rectly behind  him. 

The  Unknown  took  off  his  tattered  straw  hat, 
and  kneeling  upon  the  rock,  he  plunged  his  un- 
kempt beard  and  the  half  of  his  face  into  the  wa 
ter.  Le'once  could  hear  him  swallow  like  a  horse, 
and  was  seized  with  the  mischievous  desire  to 
whistle  a  tune,  as  is  often  done  to  soothe  this  impa- 
tient and  skittish  animal,  when  he  is  drinking. 
He  abstained,  however,  from  this  pleasantry,  but 
envied  the  sublime  confidence  with  which  the  fel- 


JEALOUSY. 


135 


low  placed  himself,  as  it  were,  at  the  feet  of  an 
utter  stranger,  with  head  to  the  ground  and  body- 
exposed,  in  a  tete-a-tete,  whose  termination  might 
have  been  disastrous,  in  case  of  a  misunderstand- 
ing. 

"  Herein  consists  the  only  happiness  of  the  poor 
man,"  thought  Leonce,  continuing  his  mental  spe- 
culations. "  He  feels  perfect  security  in  such  en- 
counters. Here  we  are,  two  men,  about  equal  in 
strength.  One  can  hardly  drink  under  the  eye  of 
the  other,  without  looking  carefully  behind  him, 
and  he  who  can  quench  his  thirst  gratis,  with  such 
evident  enjoyment,  is  not  the  rich  man !" 

"When  the  fellow  had  done  drinking,  he  straight- 
ened himself  up,  and  resting  a  moment  on  his  heels. 
"  This  water,"  said  he,  "  is  rather  warm  to  drink, 
it  quenches  thirst  better  by  entering  the  pores  of 
the  body,  than  by  passing  down  the  throat.  What 
does  your  lordship  think  of  it  ?" 

"  Have  you  a  fancy  to  take  a  bath  ?"said  Leonce, 
uncertain  if  this  remark  were  not  intended  as  a 
menace. 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  have  such  a  fancy,"  replied  the 
other.  Whereupon,  he  quietly  commenced  to  dis- 
robe himself,  a  work,  which,  by  the  way,  occupied 
but  an  instant,  for  he  was  not  encumbered  with  a 


136 


JEALOUSY. 


superfluous  toilet,  and  scarcely  a  buttonhole  in  all 
his  dress  was  unbroken. 

"  You  know  how  to  swim,  at  least  ?"  demanded 
Leonce.  "  This  is  a  large  well ;  you  will  find  no 
foothold  on  the  side  where  we  are,  for  the  rock 
apparently  descends  perpendicularly  to  a  great 
depth." 

"  Oh !  sir,  trust  confidently  to  the  skill  of  an  ex- 
professor  of  swimming  in  the  Gulf  of  Baja,"  re- 
plied the  stranger,  and  nimbly  discarding  the  rag 
that  served  him  as  a  shirt,  he  darted  into  the  water 
with  the  freedom  of  an  amphibious  bird. 

Le'once  was  amused  and  delighted  with  his  an- 
tics, his  evolutions,  his  various  feats  of  dexterity 
and  skill,  all  of  which  he  accomplished  with  ease, 
vigor,  and  natural  grace.  Presently,  he  returned 
to  the  foot  of  the  rock,  and  as  the  side  was  really 
very  steep,  he  asked  Le'once  to  reach  out  a  hand 
to  help  him  up.  Le'once  assisted  him  with  a  good 
grace,  at  the  same  time,  keeping  on  his  guard 
against  unfair  play  and  awkward  surprises.  When 
the  fellow  had  attained  the  bank,  he  went  and 
seated  himself  on  a  rock  in  the  sunshine,  display- 
ing as  he  did  so,  the  wonderful  strength  and  beauty 
of  his  body,  whose  whiteness  presented  a  strong 
contrast  to  the  bronzed  color  of  his  face  and  hands. 

"  The  water  is  colder  than  I  thought,"  said  the 


JEALOUSY.  137 

swimmer.  "  It  is  warm  only  on  the  surface,  and  I 
have  no  wish  to  plunge  into  it  a  second  time.  Now 
I  think  of  it,  here  is  an  opportunity  to  make  a 
slight  toilet." 

Saying  this,  he  drew  from  his  scanty  bundle,  a 
large  shell,  evidently  intended  to  serve  as  a  cup, 
but  of  which  he  had  disdained  to  make  use  in 
drinking.  He  filled  the  shell  several  times  with 
water  and  dashed  it  over  his  head  and  beard,  wash- 
ing and  rubbing  with  extreme  care  and  minute 
voluptuousness,  this  black  fleece,  which,  all  drip- 
ping as  it  was,  made  him  look  like  some  savage 
river  god.  Then,  as  the  rays  of  the  sun,  falling 
directly  on  his  head  and  neck,  became  trouble- 
some, he  pulled  up  great  tufts  of  the  wild  fleur  de 
lis,  and  rolling  them  together,  made  a  hat  or  rather 
crown  of  leaves  and  flowers.  Either  from  accident 
or  from  a  certain  natural  taste,  he  arranged  this 
head-dress  so  artisticallv  as  to  make  himself  the 
complete  ideal  of  an  antique  Neptune. 

A  second  time  he  bounded  into  the  lake,  swam 
across  it,  reached  the  opposite  bank,  and  running 
up  its  gentle  slope,  covered  with  vegetation,  he 
gathered  some  splendid  flowers  of  the  white  nym- 
jphea,  which  he  placed  in  his  crown.  Finally,  as 
if  divining  the  intense  admiration  with  which  Le'- 
once  regarded  him,  he  made  a  sort  of  garment, 


138 


JEALOUSY. 


with  a  girdle  of  reeds  and  aquatic  leaves,  and  then, 
free,  proud,  and  beautiful  as  the  first  man,  he  ex- 
tended himself  on  a  sand  bank,  in  an  attitude  of 
majestic  repose. 

Struck  with  the  perfection  of  the  model  before 
him,  Ldonce  opened  his  album,  and  attempted  to 
sketch  this  strange  creature,  who,  with  the  reflec- 
tion on  the  water,  presented  an  exquisite  tableau, 
such  as  an  artist  has  rarely  the  happiness  to  study, 
set  in  a  natural  frame  work  of  sombre  rocks,  bril- 
liant foliage,  and  silver  sands,  marvellously  appro- 
priate to  the  subject. 

All  at  once  he  shut  his  album,  and  throwing  it 
from  him,  "  Presumptuous  that  I  am,"  said  he,  to 
himself,  "for  essaying  to  trace  a  scene  that  Ra- 
phael or  Yeronese,  Giorgion,  Rubens,  and  Poussin, 
might  have  envied  me  the  contemplation  !  Yes ; 
the  great  masters  of  painting  were  alone  worthy 
to  reproduce  an  image,  upon  which  I  have  stum- 
bled, as  it  were  by  stealth,  and  owe  to  the  kind- 
ness of  chance.  Enough  for  me,  who  have  no 
skill  with  the  pencil,  to  see  it,  to  feel  it,  and  to 
engrave  it  on  the  tablet  of  my  memory." 

The  vagabond  seemed  intuitively  to  divine  his 
thoughts,  for,  to  his  great  surprise,  he  called  out 
in  Italian,  after  inquiring  if  Le'once  understood 
that  language,  "This  is  the  antique,  is  it  not, 


JEALOUSY.  139 

Signor  ?  Will  you  have  Michel  Angelo  ?  Behold 
him  !"  and  he  assumed  a  more  singular  attitude, 
but  still  beautiful,  although  constrained.  "  Now 
for  Raphael,"  he  resumed,  changing  his  posture. 
"  It  is  more  graceful  and  natural ;  but  whatever 
may  be  said  about  it,  the  muscle  yet  plays  a  part 
rather  too  conspicuous.  Jules  Romain  has  also 
something  of  this  stiffness,  but  he  is  not  to  be  des- 
pised." When  he  had  represented  Jules  jRomain, 
he  threw  himself  again  into  his  first  position,  add- 
ing, "  This  is  the  best ;  it  is  that  of  Phidias,  and 
one  may  seek  in  vain  to  find  anything  superior." 

"You  follow,  then,  the  occupation  of  a  model?" 
said  Leonce,  slightly  disenchanted  with  what  had 
at  first  appeared  naive  and  unstudied  in  the  man. 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  and  many  others,"  replied  the 
swimmer,  who  at  that  moment  was  to  be  seen 
standing  erect,  like  a  statue  on  a  pedestal,  upon  a 
rocky  island  in  the  middle  of  the  lake.  "If  I 
had  an  old  pitcher,  I  could  with  my  reeds,  here 
represent  to  you  a  group  after  the  taste  of  Ver- 
sailles, although  I  have  never  been  there.  We 
have,  however,  many  things  in  this  style  at  Naples. 
If  I  had  a  tambourine,  I  would  show  you  various 
Neapolitan  figures,  which  have  more  intellect  and 
grace  in  their  little  finger  than  all  the  blocks  of 
marble  and  bronze  of  your  great  age.    But,  since 


140 


JEALOUSY. 


I  can  do  nothing  more  to  charm  your  eyes,  I  will 
at  least  delight  your  ears.  If  you  are  Apollo,  treat 
me  not,  I  pray  you,  as  you  treated  Marsyas :  if 
you  are  a  renowned  master,  you  must  admit  that 
the  voice  is  fine.  I  feel  that  this  cold  water  and 
these  vigorous  postures  have  expanded  my  chest, 
and  now  I  am  seized  with  a  foolish  desire  to 
sing." 

"  Sing,  then,  comrade,"  said  Leonce.  "  If  your 
warbling  correspond  to  your  plumage,  you  have 
no  cause  to  fear  my  judgment." 


VI. 

AUDACES  FORTUNA  JTTVAT. 

The  Italian  then  sang  three  strophes,  marked  by 
the  hyperbolical  genius  of  his  nation,  and  of 
which  we  here  give  the  free  translation.  He 
adapted  them  to  one  of  those  airs  of  Southern 
Italy,  concerning  which  we  cannot  tell  whether 
they  are  chefs  d'muvres  of  unknown  masters,  or 
casual  manly  inspirations  of  the  popular  muse. 

"Pass  on,  noble  lords,  in  your  parti-colored 
gondolas.    You  urge  in  vain  the  speed  of  your 


JEALOUSY. 


141 


intrepid  oarsmen.  My  arms,  pliant  as  the  wave, 
and  white  as  the  foam,  shall  excel  you  in  swift- 
ness. Covered  with  my  rags,  I  am  one  of  the 
lowest  on  earth;  but  naked  and  free,  I  am  king 
of  the  wave,  and  your  master  in  every  thing ! 

"Fly,  noble  ladies,  in  your  barks  adorned  with 
flags.  In  vain  do  you  turn  away  your  heads,  in 
vain  does  the  fan  conceal  your  chaste  counte- 
nances ;  my  features  continually  attract  your  gaze, 
and  your  eyes  furtively  pursue  my  black  hair 
floating  upon  the  water.  With  my  rags,  I  make 
you  recoil  in  disgust,  but  naked  and  free,  I  am 
king  of  the  world,  and  master  of  your  hearts ! 

11  Swim,  birds  of  the  sea  and  the  river.  Divide 
with  your  feet  of  coral,  the  briny  wave  on  which, 
you  poise.  With  my  chest  as  strong  as  a  vessel's 
prow,  with  my  arms  as  flexible  as  your  shining 
necks,  I  will  follow  you  to  your  nests  of  sea- weed 
and  of  shells.  Covered  with  my  rags,  I  frighten 
you ;  but  naked  and  free,  I  am  king  of  the  wave, 
and  you  take  me  for  one  of  yourselves  I" 

The  voice  of  the  singer  was  magnificent,  and 
the  most  famous  artists  could  not  have  surpassed 
him  in  purity  of  accent,  in  naivete  of  manner,  or 
in  the  power  of  exalted  sentiment.  Leonce  ima- 
gined himself  transported  to  the  Gulf  of  Salerno 


142  JEALOUSY. 

or  Tarento,  under  the  sky  of  inspiration  and 
of  poetry. 

"  By  Amphytrion !"  cried  he,  "  thou  art  a  great 
poet  and  a  great  singer,  noble  young  man !  and  I 
know  not  how  to  recompense  thee  for  the  pleasure 
thou  hast  just  given  me.  What  is  this  admirable 
song  ?    What  strange  words  are  these  V 

"  The  song  is  by  some  god,  bewildered  on  the 
summit  of  the  Appenines  ;  he  confided  it  to  the 
echoes,  and  they,  in  their  turn,  murmured  it  to 
the  ears  of  shepherds  and  fishermen.  But  the 
words  are  mine,  Sign  or,  for,  with  your  permission, 
I  am  improvisator,  when  it  pleases  me  to  be.  Our 
melodious  language  is  at  everybody's  service,  and 
when  we  have  an  idea,  we,  natural  poets,  children 
of  the  sun,  we  have  not  long  to  wait  for  its  ex- 
pression." 

"  Will  you  repeat  these  words  for  me  ?  I  wish 
to  write  them  down." 

"If  I  repeat  them,  they  will  be  different.  My 
songs  fly  away  from  me  like  the  flame  from  the 
hearth.  I  can  renew,  but  not  retain  them.  You 
find  them,  perhaps,  too  much  of  the  braggadocio 
style ;  that  is  the  poet's  privilege.  Take  from 
him  his  vain-glory,  and  you  take  away  his  genius." 

"  You  have  the  right  to  boast  of  yourself,  for 
yours  is  a  privileged  nature,"  replied  Leonce, 


JEALOUSY.  143 

"  and  whatever  may  be  your  condition,  you 
deserve  to  take  an  exalted  place  among  men 
You  have  charmed  me.  Come  here,  and  tell  me 
your  misery ;  it  may  be  in  my  power  to  relieve  it." 

The  unknown  returned  to  the  bank.    "  Alas !" 
said  he,  "  You  have  seen  the  antique  fawn  in  all 
his  liberty,  the  man  of  nature  in  all  his  poetry. 
Now,  you  are  about  to  see  the  bearer  of  rags  in 
all  his  deformity,  and  in  all  his  misery ;  for  neces- 
sity compels  me  to  resume  this  sad  livery,  which, 
I  trust  in  Providence,  may  of  itself  leave  me,  or 
that  my  genius  may  find  some  occupation  whereby 
to  renew  my  wardrobe.    You  seem  surprised? 
Your  looks  plainly  indicated,  when  I  first  ap- 
proached you,  that  my  appearance  filled  you  with 
disgust.    You  found  me  ugly,  frightful,  perhaps. 
But  when  I  have  laid  aside  my  beggar's  robes, 
and  this  limpid  water  has  purified  my  skin  from 
the  dust  of  the  roads ;  when  you  have  seen  this 
body,  which  has  often  served  as  a  model  to  the 
first  sculptors  of  my  country ;  this  countenance, 
which  has  never  yet  been  degraded  by  debauch, 
and  from  which  fatigue  and  privation  have  not 
yet  stolen  its  youth  and  beauty;  these  limbs, 
upon  which  nature  has  been  luxuriously  lavish, 
and  this  sentiment  of  the  beautiful,  the  impress 
of  which  the  intelligent  man  bears  stamped  on  his 


JEALOUSY. 


forehead  and  in  all  his  habits ;  when  you  have 
seen  all  this,  Signor,  you  are  at  last  convinced, 
that  naked,  I  am  the  equal  and  perhaps  the  supe- 
rior of  men  more  sumptuously  clothed,  and  you 
have  tried  to  enrol  me  among  your  artistic  impres- 
sions. But  you  have  not  succeeded,  I  am  sure, 
for  the  works  of  art  are  nothing,  when  they 
attempt  to  surpass  the  works  of  God.  If  you  are 
a  true  artist,  my  image  will  be  laid  away  in  the 
store-house  of  your  memory,  to  be  brought  forth 
again  in  some  future  moment  of  inspiration.  To- 
day, you  cannot  reproduce  me,  inasmuch  as  the 
performance  is  over,  and  my  divinity  is  about  to 
disappear,  under  the  withering  blight  of  indi- 
gence." 

The  man  spoke  with  an  extraordinary  facility 
and  purity  of  accent.  His  countenance,  now 
lighted  up  by  a  ray  of  enthusiasm,  and  now, 
quickly  veiled  by  a  profound  sentiment  of  woe, 
was  of  an  unearthly  beauty.  Never  had  the  eyes 
of  Le*once  dwelt  upon  more  noble  features,  with 
so  refined  and  intelligent  an  expression. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  impelled  by  an  involuntary 
emotion  of  respect,  "  you  are  certainly  above  the 
miserable  condition  in  which  you  appear.  It  may 
be  that  you  are  some  unfortunate  artist.  Accept 
of  my  assistance,  I  entreat  you,  as  a  slight  testi- 


JEALOUSY. 


145 


monial  of  my  gratitude  for  the  pleasure  you  have 
been  the  means  of  procuring  me." 

But  the  unknown  appeared  not  to  hear  the 
words  of  Leonce.  Bending  down  over  the  margin 
of  the  lake,  he  picked  up  with  visible  repugnance 
the  worthless  clothes  he  was  obliged  to  resumer  in 
order  to  cover  his  nakedness. 

"  This,"  said  he,  letting  the  rags  fall  again  upon 
the  ground — "  this  is  a  punishment  I  hope  you  may 
never  experience.  The  Italian  loves  finery,  the 
artist  loves  comfort,  luxury,  odors,  cleanliness ; 
that  exquisite  indolence  which  renews  both  mind 
and  body,  after  manly  and  healthful  exercises. 
No  human  being  can  comprehend  how  much  it 
costs  me  to  show  myself  to  the  world,  to  women 
especially,  with  a  torn  blouse  and  threadbare 
pantaloons." 

"  I  both  understand  and  pity  you,"  replied 
Leonce,  "  and  God  be  praised,  I  can  help  you  out 
of  your  trouble  this  very  instant.  If  you  will 
remain  here  and  warm  yourself  in  the  sun,  I  pro- 
mise you  to  return  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  with 
a  wardrobe  that  shall  satisfy  your  honest  and 
legitimate  fancy.    Wait  for  me." 

And  before  the  Italian  could  utter  a  word, 
either  of  assent  or  remonstrance,  Le'once  darted 

up  the  path,  ran  to  the  carriage,  drew  from  it  a 
9 


146 


JEALOUSY. 


light  and  elegant  valise,  and  carried  it  with  him 
to  the  lake.  He  found  his  Italian  in  the  water, 
occupied  in  tastefully  arranging  a  sheaf  of  the 
most  beautiful  aquatic  flowers,  which  he  brought 
triumphantly  to  shore,  and  presented  to  Leonce 
with  touching  grace. 

"  I  can  give  you  nothing  else  in  exchange  for 
what  you  bring  me,"  said  he.  "  I  possess  nothing 
in  the  world ;  but  thanks  to  my  address  and 
courage,  I  can  appropriate  to  my  use  the  rarest 
treasures  of  nature ;  the  most  beautiful  flowers, 
the  most  valuable  mineralogical  specimens,  crys- 
tals, petrifactions  and  mountainous  plants.  I  can 
give  you  all  these,  if  you  would  like  me  to  accom- 
pany you  in  your  excursions ;  or,  if  you  have  a 
gun  with  you,  I  can  bring  down  the  eagle  and  the 
chamois,  and  deposit  them  at  the  feet  of  your 
mistress ;  for  I  am  the  most  skilful  hunter  you 
have  ever  met,  as  well  as  the  most  hardy  pedes- 
trian and  the  most  active  swimmer." 

Notwithstanding  the  self-glorification  contained 
in  this  speech,  (a  great  feature,  by  the  way,  in  the 
Italian  character)  the  loquacity  of  the  young  man 
was  by  no  means  displeasing  to  Le'once.  His 
countenance,  lighted  up  by  joy  and  gratitude,  was 
radiant  with  a  sympathetic  frankness  that  appeals 
irresistibly  to  the  affections.    In  ten  minutes,  the 


JEALOUSY. 


147 


ragged  vagabond  was  transformed  into  a  young 
man  of  the  highest  fashion,  in  traveling  costume. 
Leonce's  valise  contained  only  des  habits  du  ma- 
tin, but  there  was  a  full  supply  of  everything 
wherewith  to  make  a  charming  toilet  in  the  coun- 
try :  light  and  well-fitting  vests,  cravats  of  choice 
colors  and  the  latest  style,  magnificent  linen,  sum- 
mer pantaloons  of  fancy  stuffs,  patent  leather 
shoes,  and  light  cassimere  gaiters,  with  mother-of- 
pearl  buttons.  The  Italian  used  no  ceremony  in 
choosing  the  best  and  most  elegant  articles,  and 
even  did  not  forget  to  furnish  himself  with  a  pair 
of  gloves,  whose  delicate  perfume  he  inhaled  with 
evident  pleasure.  He  was  about  the  same  height 
as  Leonce,  and  everything  fitted  him  wonderfully. 
When  he  beheld  himself  thus  attired  and  reno- 
vated from  head  to  foot,  he  threw  himself 
into  the  arms  of  his  new  friend,  exclaiming, 
that  he  owed  to  him  the  greatest  happiness 
he  had  ever  experienced.  Then,  with  the  point 
of  his  foot,  he  pushed  the  rags  that  gave  him  so 
much  horror,  into  the  lake,  untied  his  small  bun- 
dle, the  envelope  of  which  he  also  threw  into  the 
water,  and  drew  from  it,  to  the  great  surprise  of 
Leonce,  the  portrait  of  a  woman,  set  in  brilliants, 
a  heavy  gold  chain,  and  two  fine  cambric  hand- 


148 


JEALOUSY. 


kerchiefs,  trimmed  with  lace.  These  made  up  the 
entire  contents  of  his  traveling  knapsack. 

"  You  are  astonished  that  a  man,  apparently  a 
beggar,  should  have  preserved  these  articles  of 
luxury,"  said  he,  putting  on  the  chain,  and  so  ar- 
ranging it  as  to  produce  the  best  effect  over  his 
white  waistcoat.  "  They  are  all  that  remains  to 
me  of  my  former  splendor,  and  I  shall  never  part 
with  them  except  at  the  last  extremity.  Che 
volete,  Signor  mio  t  pazzia  /" 

"  You  have  then  been  rich  ?"  asked  Ldonce, 
remarking  the  ease  with  which  he  wore  his  new 
costume. 

"  Rich  for  eight  days,  I  have  been  a  hundred 
times.  Would  you  like  to  know  my  history  %  I 
will  tell  it  you  with  pleasure." 

"  I  shall  certainly  be  glad  to  hear  it.  We  will 
go  together  and  replace  this  valise  in  my  carriage, 
and  you  can  relate  your  history  on  the  way." 

"  Are  you  traveling,  Signor  ?" 

No,  merely  out  on  an  excursion,  which  may 
perhaps  last  several  days.  Will  you  make  one  of 
the  party  ?" 

"  Ah !  with  great  pleasure,  and  all  the  more, 
since  I  can  be  both  useful  and  agreeable.  I  have 
various  small  talents,  and  I  am  already  familiar 
with  every  nook  and  crevice  in  these  mountains, 


JEALOUSY. 


149 


through  which  I  have  been  wandering  during  the 
past  week.  My  head  is  incessantly  carrying  off 
my  legs,  to  revenge  itself  upon  my  heart,  which 
is  every  moment  running  away  with  my  head. 
But  in  order  that  you  may  comprehend  my  man- 
ner of  traveling,  that  is,  my  mode  of  life,  it  is 
necessary  that  I  should  first  make  you  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  myself. 

"  I  am  ignorant  of  the  place  of  my  birth,  and 
know  not  whether  I  am  indebted  for  the  light  to 
some  guilty  woman  of  quality,  or  to  some  poor, 
unfortunate  girl.  The  wife  of  a  fisherman  picked 
me  up  one  morning  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  in 
the  vicinity  of  Rome,  and  gave  me  the  name  of 
Teverino  or  Tiberinus.  I  was  about  two  years  old, 
but  could  not  speak  to  tell  whence  I  had  come,  or 
the  name  of  my  parents.  This  good  creature  took 
care  of  me  and  brought  me  up,  notwithstanding 
her  poverty.  She  had  no  son,  and  relied  on  me 
to  assist  in  supporting  her,  when  I  should  be  old 
enough  to  work.  Unfortunately,  I  was  not  born 
with  a  taste  for  work :  nature  bestowed  on  me  an 
inclination  for  princely  indolence,  and  for  that 
reason,  I  have  always  believed  myself  of  illus- 
trious blood,  although  in  spirit  I  am  with  the 
people.  I  am  certain  that  one  of  the  two  authors 
of  my  being  must  have  belonged  to  the  race  of 


150 


JEALOUSY. 


poor  devils  who  are  destined  to  conquer  obstacles 
by  and  for  themselves ;  and  in  my  problematical 
origin,  that  is  the  side  for  which  I  am  least  inclined 
to  blush.  Even  when,  as  a  little  child,  I  liked  to  fish, 
it  was  rather  as  an  art  than  a  business.  Yes,  even 
then,  I  felt  myself  born  for  the  creations  of  the  in- 
tellect. Ardent  in  the  pursuit  of  violent  and  peril- 
ous exercises,  I  had  no  taste  for  lucre.  I  experienced 
great  delight  in  watching,  surprising,  and  conquer- 
ing my  prey,  but  I  was  unskilful  in  bargaining 
for  its  sale.  I  frequently  lost  the  money  I  had 
earned,  or  lent  it  to  the  first  applicant,  for  I  was 
too  generous  to  refuse  any  thing  to  my  little  com- 
rades, and  often  aided  them  in  arranging  their  mer- 
chandize to  advantage,  so  that  they  might  obtain  the 
best  prices.  In  short,  my  poor  adopted  mother  was 
in  utter  despair  at  my  disinterestedness  and  liberal- 
ity, complaining  bitterly  of  my  stupidity  and  ill- 
behavior. 

u  In  proportion  as  age  gave  me  strength,  it  took 
hers  away ;  at  last,  not  being  strong  enough  to 
beat  me,  her  only  consolation  until  then  for  all  my 
delinquencies,  she  one  day  turned  me  out  of  doors, 
with  her  malediction  and  two  carlini. 

"  I  was  ten  years  old,  and  as  beautiful  as  a 
young  Cupid.  A  painter  of  merit,  who  had  no- 
ticed me  in  the  street,  took  me  into  his  house  to 


JEALOUSY. 


151 


serve  as  a  model.  He  painted  from  me  a  holy 
John  the  Baptist  child,  a  Giotto,  and  a  Jesus 
teaching  in  the  temple ;  and  when  he  had  done 
with  my  face,  he  sent  me  away  with  twenty  pieces 
of  gold  and  the  advice  to  dress  myself  better  if  I 
wished  to  obtain  an  honest  living.  I  felt  the  taste 
for  luxury  already  born  within  me  ;  nevertheless, 
I  comprehended  that  this  was  not  the  moment  for 
its  indulgence.  Accordingly  I  ran  to  the  house 
of  my  adopted  mother,  and  gave  her  all  the 
money  I  had  received.  My  generosity  appeared 
to  touch  her  heart,  and  she  urged  me  to  remain 
with  her ;  but  I  replied,  that  having  tasted  the 
pleasures  of  independence,  they  were  too  sweet  to 
resign,  and  I  must  be  perfectly  free  to  choose  my 
profession. 

"  This  profession  was  soon  found ;  that  is  to  say, 
a  hundred  presented  themselves,  and  I  devoted 
myself  to  none  exclusively.  I  had  a  love  of 
change,  a  passion  for  liberty,  and  an  ungoverna- 
ble curiosity  for  every  thing  noble  and  beautiful. 
My  voice  was  already  fine,  my  countenance  and 
intellect  recommended  themselves.  Sure  of  charm- 
ing the  eye  and  the  ear,  I  had  no  care  to  take  on 
this  point :  my  only  study  was  to  cultivate  my 
natural  faculties.  In  turn,  model,  boatman,  jockey, 
chorist,  ballet-dancer  at  the  theatre,  street-singer, 


152 


JEALOUSY. 


shell-merchant,  waiter  in  a  Cafe,  cicerone,  

Ah  !  sir,  this  last  occupation  and  that  of  model, 
were  the  most  profitable,  if  not  to  my  purse,  at 
least  to  my  mind.  The  conversation  of  artists, 
and  the  daily  study  of  chefs  d'ceuvres  of  art  so 
developed  my  ideas,  that  I  soon  found  myself  su- 
perior in  my  conceptions  and  judgment,  to  the 
painters  and  sculptors  who  endeavored  to  repro- 
duce my  figure,  as  well  as  to  all  the  tourists  whom 
I  initiated  in  a  knowledge  of  the  wonders  of  Rome. 
The  more  I  perceived  the  ignorance  and  poverty 
of  intellect  of  those  with  whom  business  brought 
me  in  contact,  the  stronger  grew  my  desire  to  cul- 
tivate my  nature  to  its  utmost  capacity.  I  was 
not  fond  of  reading.  Instruction  by  means  of 
books  is  a  work  too  cold  and  tedious  for  the  ra- 
pidity of  my  comprehension. 

"  I  endeavored,  therefore,  to  associate  as  much 
as  possible  with  truly  intelligent  men,  and  almost 
always  sacrificing  my  interests  to  this  object,  I 
instructed  myself  by  listening  to  their  conversa- 
tion. Boatman  or  jockey,  I  observed  and  was 
familiar  with  the  manners  and  habits  of  people 
of  the  world ;  chorist  in  the  church  or  at  the 
opera,  I  became  initiated  in  the  sentiment  of  music 
and  in  theatrical  art.  I  surprised  the  secrets  of 
the  priest  and  those  of  the  comedian,  who,  by  the 


JEALOUSY. 


153 


way,  strongly  resemble  each  other.  Singing  on 
the  market-place,  exhibiting  puppets,  or  selling 
knick-knacks,  I  studied  all  classes  of  men,  and 
knew  at  a  glance  the  impressions  of  the  public 
and  their  causes.  Acute  and  penetrating,  auda- 
cious and  modest,  easy  to  persuade,  and  disdaining 
to  deceive,  I  had  friends  everywhere,  and  pro- 
tectors nowhere.  To  accept  protection,  is  to  place 
one's  self  in  dependence  ;  all  sorts  of  yokes  are 
odious  to  me.  Endowed  with  a  talent  for  imita- 
tion without  example,  certain  of  amusing,  affect- 
ing, astonishing,  or  interesting,  whomsoever  I 
would,  there  was  not  an  hour  of  my  life  in  which 
I  could  not  rely  on  some  one  of  my  infinite 
resources. 

"  In  proportion  as  I  approached  manhood,  these 
resources,  far  from  diminishing,  increased  ten- 
fold. When  old  enough  to  please  women,  I  had 
great  success,  Signor,  and  I  did  not  abuse  it.  The 
same  regal  indolence  that  had  kept  me  from 
wasting  my  talents  in  the  employment  of  a  fish- 
monger, and  which  was  in  fact  only  an  instinctive 
respect  for  the  preservation  of  my  power,  accom- 
panied me  in  my  relations  with  the  fair  sex.  Ju- 
dicious and  discreet,  vice  could  not  long  attract, 
nor  selfish  pleasures  hold  me  ;  I  desired  to  live  by 
the  heart,  that  I  might  rest  complete  and  invin 


154 


JEALOUSY. 


cible  in  my  pride.  It  cost  me  no  effort  to  forgive 
a  wrong,  therefore  was  I  often  betrayed,  but  never 
deceived.  I  supplanted  many  rivals,  but  never 
villified  them.  I  formed  many  ties,  yet  knew 
how  to  break  them  without  anger  or  bitterness. 
Here,  sir,  I  have  the  portrait  of  a  princess,  who 
so  tormented  me  by  her  jealousy  as  to  compel  me 
to  abandon  her ;  but  I  preserve  her  image  in  re- 
membrance of  the  pleasure  she  has  given  me.  I 
do  not  show  it  to  any  one,  nor  do  I  sell  the  dia- 
monds, although  I  have  lived  for  a  week  on  black 
bread  and  goat's  milk." 

"  But  what  then  is  the  cause  of  your  present 
misery?"  demanded  Ldonce. 

"  The  love  of  traveling  is  one  cause,  and  love, 
pure  love,  is  the  other,  Signor  mio  !  Hardly  had 
I  gained  some  money,  than,  quitting  the  employ- 
ment which  had  procured  it,  for  I  had  exhausted 
all  its  pleasure,  I  set  out  to  travel  over  Italy.  I 
visited  all  its  provinces,  partaking  the  sweets  of 
ease  when  I  could  procure  them,  submitting  philo- 
sophically to  privations  when  my  purse  was  empty; 
often  even,  resting  with  a  sort  of  voluptuousness 
in  this  state  of  destitution  which  made  me  feel  the 
price  of  the  wealth  I  had  wasted,  and  proudly 
waiting  for  the  return  of  desire  strong  enough  to 
shake  off  this  delicious  apathy.    Sometimes  I  dis- 


JEALOUSY.  155 

dained  to  accept  offered  business,  feeling  that  my 
inspirations  as  artist  were  not  arrived  at  their 
apogee,  and  preferring  to  fast  rather  than  declaim 
or  sing  unworthily.  Ah !  Signor,  it  is  a  great 
enjoyment  to  feel  one's  genius  carried  captive  by 
the  respect  one  bears  it!  At  other  times,  love 
controlled  me,  and  I  pleased  myself  in  wasting 
my  gold  upon  my  idol.  Still  more  happy  was  I, 
and  intoxicated  beyond  expression,  when  ruined, 
I  saw  her  attach  herself  to  my  misery,  and  cherish 
me  all  the  more  tenderly,  that  I  had  no  longer 
anything  but  love  to  bestow  upon  her  !  Oh !  yes  ; 
and  thus  I  have  let  many  days  pass  away  before 
putting  such  affection  to  the  proof  of  again  trying 
the  wheel  of  fortune ;  for  noble  hearts  are  most 
irresistibly  drawn  to  each  other,  when  most  un- 
fortunate." 

"  Teverino,  your  language  penetrates  my  very 
soul,"  said  Leonce.  "  If  you  draw  a  true  picture 
of  yourself,  you  possess  one  of  the  noblest  hearts, 
joined  to  one  of  the  most  original  characters  I 
have  ever  met.  "When  you  began  your  history,  I 
thought  of  this  title  of  a  chapter  in  Eabelais,  with 
which  you  are  doubtless  familiar,  since  you  know 
everything?" 

"  Row  Pantagruel  met  Panurge  V  said  the 
Italian,  laughing. 


156  JEALOUSY. 

"  Even  so,"  replied  Leonce  ;  "  and  now  I  will 
finish  the  phrase — '  whom  he  loved  all  his  life.1 " 

"  This  chapter  has  often  been  quoted  to  me,  for 
all  who  have  loved  me  have  found  me  under  their 
feet.  But  I  soon  came  up  to  the  level  of  their 
hearts,  even  above  the  heads  of  some,  and  in  this 
respect  I  am  a  Panurge  of  a  better  type  than  the 
hero  of  Rabelais.  I  have  neither  his  dastardliness, 
his  impudence,  his  gluttony,  his  boastfulness,  nor 
his  egotism,  but  I  have,  in  common  with  him,  de- 
licacy of  wit  and  the  chances  of  fortune.  If  you 
were  to  take  me  with  you  for  a  few  days,  you 
would  see,  that,  in  partaking  of  the  luxuries  ap- 
pertaining to  your  life,  I  should  not  for  an  instant 
abuse  them.  When  I  had  had  enough  of  them — 
and  I  should  probably  weary  of  your  society  be- 
fore you  would  of  mine — you  would  regret  our 
separation,  and  feel  that  you  owed  me  a  debt  of 
gratitude." 

"  That  is  very  possible,"  smilingly  replied  Le- 
once ;  "  although  I  find  in  you  a  resemblance  to 
Panurge,  which  you  deny  !  boastfulness.''' 

"  Not  so,  sir.  He  is  a  boaster  who  promises 
what  he  does  not  perform.  Be  not  piqued  at  my 
assertion  ;  but  it  is  true  that  I  shall  be  the  first  to 
tire  of  our  familiarity.  You  will  not  be  the  cause 
of  it,  for  I  perceive  that  you  possess  both  genius 


JEALOUSY.  157 

and  greatness  of  soul ;  but  exterior  circumstances, 
independent  of  our  own  wills :  the  world  that 
amuses  me  an  instant  and  then  disgusts  me,  the 
constraint  of  any  custom  to  which  I  find  it  impos- 
sible to  submit  longer  than  a  few  hours,  any  indi- 
vidual who  may  please  you,  but  is  antipathetic  to 
me;  in  fine,  any  caprice  of  my  versatile  mind, 
which  may  in  some  measure  draw  me  towards  a 
new  aspect  of  things,  this  or  that  will  oblige  me 
to  leave  you.  But  you  will  not  be  ashamed  of 
having  known  me,  and  I  swear  to  you,  that  the 
name  of  Teverino  shall  never  be  odious  in  your 
ears." 

"  I  am  assured  that  you  do  not  deceive  me,"  re- 
plied Leonce,  "  although  your  inconstancy  terrifies 
me.  See  now  !  can  you  engage  to  live  twenty-four 
hours  my  life,  and  transform  yourself,  morally 
speaking,  from  head  to  foot,  into  the  man  of  the 
world,  which  you  already  are,  materially." 

"  Nothing  more  easy.  I  shall  have  as  fine  man- 
ners and  as  noble  a  bearing  as  yourself,  for  I  un- 
derstand you  thoroughly,  although  but  an  hour  in 
your  society.  Moreover,  have  I  not  lived  as  peer 
and  companion  to  the  nobility,  when  my  talents 
have  caused  me  to  be  sought  after  ?  Do  you  think 
that  if  I  had  desired  to  adopt  an  uniform  mode  of 
life,  if  I  had  been  willing  to  deprive  myself  of 


r158  JEALOUSY. 

vivid  emotions,  such  for  instance,"  a»  abstaining 
from  ruining  myself  in  one  day,  and  forsaking  a 
marchioness  to  run  after  a  gipsy  ;  in  short,  if  I  had 
chosen  to  reform  myself,  as  it  is  called,  submit  my- 
self to  circumstances,  give  myself  up  to  the  tortures 
of  ambition,  or  to  the  torments  of  a  jealous  vanity, 
bear  with  the  caprices  of  the  great,  or  injure  my 
competitors  to  the  advantage  of  my  fortune  and 
reputation,  do  you  think  I  should  not  have  suc- 
ceeded as  well  as  many  others,  who  entering  the 
world  through  the  small  door  for  artists,  have  be- 
come lords  in  their  turn,  and  have  seen  open  before 
them,  the  folding  doors  of  the  great?  Nothing 
would  have  been  more  easy,  and  it  is  this  facility 
even,  which  disgusts  me.  Rely  then  upon  my 
sentiment  of  propriety  as  long  as  your  convention- 
alisms shall  suit  me,  that  is  to  say,  twenty-four 
hours,  the  term  for  which  I  agree." 

"  Be  it  so.  You  will  pass  for  one  of  my  friends, 
whom  I  have  just  met  boatnizing  or  philosophiz- 
ing among  the  mountains,  and  I  shall  present  you 
as  such  to  a  beautiful  lady,  whom  we  are  about  to 
rejoin,  and  with  whom  I  expect  you  to  maintain 
your  incognito  as  long  as  it  may  be  my  pleasure." 

"  I  cannot  enter  into  any  engagement  stated  in 
such  terms ;  I  should  be  at  the  mercy  of  your  ca- 
price, and  that  would  chill  my  genius.    We  will 


JEALOUSY.  159 

agree  upon  twenty-four  hours,  neither  more  nor 
less,  and  the  engagement  must  be  reciprocal.  I 
will  go  no  further  with  you  now,  unless  you  give 
me  your  word  of  honor  that  I  may  be  permitted 
to  unmask  to-morrow,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon— I  see  by  the  sun  that  it  is  now  about  that 
hour — and,  on  my  part,  I  authorize  you  to  throw 
me  naked  into  the  lake  where  you  found  me,  if  I 
betray  myself  before  the  expiration  of  the  con- 
tract." 

"  I  agree,  upon  honor,"  said  Ldonce. 

So  saying,  they  turned  into  the  thicket  which 
sheltered  the  carriage ;  they  succeeded  in  replacing 
the  valise  under  the  box  in  front,  without  being 
perceived. 

"  Let  me  go  forward  and  reconnoitre  while  you 
wait  here,"  said  Leonce ;  and,  as  with  this  object 
in  view,  he  was  advancing  along  the  path,  he  saw 
Madeleine  coming  towards  him,  breathless  and 
carrying  the  hammock. 

"  Her  highness  is  waiting  very  impatiently  for 
you,"  said  she.  "  She  sent  me  to  find  your  lord- 
ship, and  to  tell  you  that  she's  very  tired.  Bless 
me !  there  she  is  now,  crossing  the  stream.  I  will 
run  on  and  put  this  in  the  carriage." 

Le'once  hastened  to  offer  his  hand  to  Sabina, 
without  giving  himself  any  anxiety  in  regard  to 


160 


JEALOUSY. 


the  chance  of  Madeleine's  meeting  with  Teverino, 
or  the  possibility  of  her  having  already  seen  the 
fellow  strolling  about  the  country.  Chance  ap- 
peared to  serve  his  projects,  for  hardly  had  he  an- 
nounced to  Sabina,  that  he  had  a  friend  to  pre- 
sent to  her,  than  he  saw  Teverino  come  out  of  the 
thicket,  followed  at  a  respectful  distance  by  the 
bird-tamer,  who  looked  at  him  curiously,  as  if  she 
now  beheld  him  for  the  first  time. 


VII. 

OVER  HEDGE  AND  DITCH. 

"I  present  to  you  the  Marquis  Tiberino  de 
Montefiore,"  said  Leonce,  "  a  faithful  friend, 
whom  I  was  sure  of  meeting  in  the  pursuit  of 
flowers  for  his  magnificent  herbarium  of  the  Alps, 
and  a  delightful  traveling  companion,  kindly  sent 
to  us  by  Providence.  I  trust  he  will  receive  your 
welcome  and  the  honor  of  admission  into  your 
cortege." 

The  fine  face  and  graceful  bearing  of  the  Mar- 
quis Tiberino  dispelled  the  anger  which  clouded 
the  brow  of  Lady  G  . 


JEALOUSY.  161 

"  I  am  compelled  to  obey  you  in  everything," 
she  said  in  an  undertone  to  Leonce.  "You  are  my 
doctor  and  master  to-day  ;  consequently,  I  must 
accept  your  prescriptions  without  examining  them 
too  closely." 

"  In  this  instance  your  submission  will  not  be 
very  meritorious,"  said  Leonce,  u  and  by-and-by  I 
will  appeal  to  your  own  experience,  as  regards  the 
truth  of  my  assertion.  Marquis,  give  your  arm  to 
Milady.  I  will  endeavor  to  fish  up  our  Cure  and 
his  trout." 

The  Cure  had  done  wonders;  and  in  the  ex- 
citement of  his  numerous  conquests,  he  forgot  the 
hour,  his  parishioners,  his  office,  even  his  house- 
keeper. As  he  beheld  the  silver  trout,  their 
stomachs  sprinkled  with  rubies,  wriggling  upon 
the  grass,  he,  himself,  leaped  about  like  a  frog, 
and  his  large,  round  eyes  shone  with  the  innocent 
joy  of  the  churchman  who  finds  in  orthodox 
amusements  a  vent  for  his  ardent  passions.  Leonce 
assisted  in  making  a  basket  of  rushes  and  osiers, 
in  which  to  carry  his  fish,  and  thus  imprisoned, 
they  replaced  them  alive  in  the  water,  taking  care 
to  fasten  the  verdant  cord  to  some  large  stones. 

"  I  invite  you  to  sup  this  evening  at  my  parson- 
age," cried  the  Cure.  "  They  will  be  delicious, 
10 


16*2  JEALOUSY. 

especially  if  you  have  any  of  that  good  wine  left, 
wherewith  to  wash  them  down." 

"I  have  something  better  yet;"  said  Leonce. 
"  I  have  jnst  seen  in  an  oak  coppice  a  quantity  of 
superb  mushrooms  of  every  variety,  and  have 
come  to  ask  you  assistance  in  gathering  them." 

"  Oh !  Sir,"  exclamed  the  Curd,  reddening  with 
enthusiasm,  "  let  us  go  there  immediately,  before 
the  herdsmen  come  down  after  their  cows.  Those 
ignoramuses  would  crush  beneath  their  feet  the 
splendid  mushrooms,  the  whole  of  which  we  must 
absolutely  gather.  You  have  done  well  to  wait 
for  me  :  I  am  familiar  with  all  the  varieties  suit- 
able for  food,  and  the  6  bollet/  especially,  requires 
great  delicacy  of  observation,  because  of  the  great 
number  of  cousins  german  found  in  the  class  of 
poisons." 

"  Panurge  may  get  out  of  it  as  he  can  I"  said 
Leonce  to  himself,  as  he  saw  Teverino  and  Sabina 
seated  at  a  little  distance,  on  a  group  of  rocks. 
"  If  he  perpetrates  any  foolishness,  I  shall  not 
suffer  the  mortification  of  listening  to  it,  and  I 
much  prefer  to  submit  to  the  results  of  the  ex- 
periment than  to  face  them." 

He  took  the  Cure*  off  with  him,  and  called 
Madeleine  to  join  their  party,  but  the  latter  seemed 
unwilling  to  go,  and  said,  by  way  of  excuse,  that 


JEALOUSY.  163 

all  the  mushrooms  were  poisonous,  and  of  no  use, 
but  to  kill  flies. 

"  This  is  a  prejudice  of  man}'  peasants,"  said 
the  Cure,  "  even  in  the  regions  where  a  knowledge 
of  the  eatable  kinds  might  furnish  them  a  healthy 
and  nutritious  food." 

Leonce  passed  sufficiently  near  to  Sabina  to  give 
her  an  opportunity  of  recalling  him,  if  the  tete-d- 
tete  were  displeasing  to  her ;  but  she  gave  no  in- 
dication of  discontent,  and  did  not  even  appear  to 
see  him. 

Lost  in  the  oak  coppice,  Le'once  found  himself 
separated  from  the  Curd,  whom  the  ardor  of  search 
led  into  the  thickest  of  the  bushes,  and  whose 
locality  was  only  betrayed  from  time  to  time  by 
exclamations  of  enthusiasm,  as  new  groups  of 
mushrooms  presented  themselves  before  him. 
Madeleine  quietly  followed  the  young  man  and 
offered  him  her  large  straw  hat  to  serve  as  a 
basket ;  but  Le'once  put  in  it  only  the  flowers  of 
the  gentian  and  balm  leaves.  The  bird-tamer 
was  pre-occnpied,  and,  once,  he  thought  he  saw 
some  furtive  tears  dropping  from  her  blond  eye- 
lashes. 

"  What  ails  you,  dear  child  ?"  said  he,  drawing 
her  arm  within  his  own.  "  What  internal  trouble 
can  you  have  V 


164  JEALOUSY. 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,  kind  sir,"  replied  the 
young  girl.  "  It  is  only  a  little  foolishness  passing 
through  my  mind." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?"  said  Le*once,  pressing  her 
little  arm  against  his  breast. 

"  It  is,  you  see,  sir,"  she  replied  ingenuously, 
"  that  my  good  friend  set  out  this  morning  before 
daylight  for  the  frontier." 

"  Has  he  left  you?" 

"  Oh !  no,  God  forbid !  I  do  not  think  that.  He 
has  gone  to  reconnoitre  a  pass  he  has  seen,  which 
my  brother  thinks  impracticable.  He  believes, 
on  the  contrary,  that  this  will  be  the  best  mode  of 
passing  contraband  goods;  he  does  not  wish  to 
live  at  our  charge,  and  as  the  business  looks  tempt- 
ing to  him,  he  intends  to  aid  my  brother  in  mak- 
ing a  profitable  hit,  and  has  promised  to  return 
this  evening  with  good  news.  But  I  fear  that  he 
may  not  return,  and  I  do  nothing  but  pray  to  God 
all  the  time.    This  is  what  makes  me  cry." 

"  The  pass  is  probably  dangerous,  and  you  fear 
that  he  will  be  too  venturesome  ?" 

"  The  pass  is  dangerous ;  for  my  brother  thinks 
it  impossible,  but  my  friend  is  adroit  and  prudent 
enough  to  get  out  of  it." 

"  What  then  do  you  fear?" 


JEALOUSY.  165 
"  I  do  not  know.  Don't  ask  me  5  I  cannot  tell 

you." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you.  You  fear  that  he  no 
longer  loves  you.  "What  has  become  of  the  con- 
fidence you  felt  this  morning  P 

"  I  am  wrong,  am  I  not  ?" 

"I  do  not  know.  But  can  you  not  console 
yourself,  my  poor  child  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  returned  Madeleine,  with 
eyes  raised  towards  heaven,  and  in  a  tone  that 
expressed  no  doubt  of  her  lover's  constancy,  but 
rather  the  dismay  of  an  inexperienced  heart  facing 
grief. 

"  You  do  not  know,  indeed,"  resumed  Leonce, 
observing  her  countenance,  "  and  you  feel  that  if 
it  be  possible,  it  is  at  least  very  difficult." 

"  It  does  not  seem  possible  to  me  at  all.  But 
God  alone  knows  the  miracles  he  can  perform,  and 
it  is  said,  that  when  we  pray  to  him  in  the  sincer- 
ity of  our  hearts,  he  will  refuse  us  nothing." 

"  Your  first  movement  would  be,  then,  to  pray 
to  him  to  deliver  you  from  your  love?  and  that  is 
your  prayer  now,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  would  do  that  only  when  certain 
of  being  no  longer  loved ;  for  if  I  were  to  pray 
now  to  become  wicked  towards  one  who  is  good 


166 


JEALOUSY. 


to  me,  I  should  ask  something  that  God  could  not 
grant,  even  if  he  would." 

"  You  think,  then,  that  it  is  our  duty  to  love 
those  who  love  us  ?" 

"  Yes ;  when  God  permits  us  to  love  them,  he 
does  not  wish  us  to  cease  loving  from  motives  of 
caprice.  I  believe  even  that  such  fickleness 
displeases  him." 

"  But  if  there  be  a  reason  for  it,  that  would  be 
different?" 

"  Then  it  would  become  a  duty.  To  love  him 
who  no  longer  loves  us,  is  to  offend  and  annoy  him. 
God  does  not  wish  us  to  torment  our  neighbor,  es- 
pecially for  the  good  he  has  done  us." 

"  You  are  a  great  philosopher,  Madeleine." 

"  Philosopher,  sir !  I  do  not  understand  that 
word." 

"  But  we  sometimes  love,  in  spite  of  ourselves, 
and  refrain  from  confessing  our  love,  thus  causing 
suffering  to  those  who  leave  us  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  that  must  make  a  great  deal  of  trou- 
ble," said  Madeleine,  the  color  forsaking  her  cheeks 
at  the  very  idea. 

"  But  you  pray,  my  child,  and  God  will  deliver 
you." 

"  It  is  very  difficult  to  pray,  I  am  sure.  "We 


JEALOUSY.  167 

ought  always  to  think  to  ask  for  something  besides 
what  we  wish  to  obtain." 

"  That  is  to  say,  that  in  asking  to  be  cured,  we 
desire,  in  spite  of  ourselves,  to  be  loved  as  much 
as  ever." 

"  I  really  believe  that  is  just  it,  sir.  But  we 
must  not  despair  of  the  mercy  of  God." 

"  God  then  permits  us  to  be  loved  by  some  other 
person,  and  to  return  that  love  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  When  one  is  not  handsome, 
and  is  in  love  with  one  person,  it  is  not  easy  to 
please  any  other." 

"  But  the  miracles  of  Providence !  If  your  coun- 
tenance should  appear  beautiful  to  some  other  than 
your  friend,  and  if  your  love  and  grief,  instead  of 
displeasing  him,  should  render  you  more  beautiful 
in  his  eyes  ?" 

"  You  speak  with  great  gentleness  and  goodness, 
sir.  It  is  very  easy  to  see  that  you  believe  in  God, 
and  that  you  understand  his  mercy  better  than  M. 
le  Curd.  You  wish  also  tp  console  me,  in  showing 
me  things  like  that ;  but  ?am  so  sad  that  I  cannot 
yet  even  see  them.  I  am  constantly  thinking  of 
what  I  should  suffer,  if  my  good  friend  were  to 
cease  loving  me ;  were  I  not  afraid  that  it  is  im- 
pious, I  imagine  I  should  wish  to  die." 


168 


JEALOUSY. 


"  Reflect  that  if  you  were  to  die  and  he  knew  it, 
he  would  be  eternally  unhappy." 

"  And  perhaps  the  good  God  would  punish  him 
for  having  caused  my  death.  Oh!  no.  Then  I 
should  not  wish  to  die." 

"  You  are  good  and  generous ;  [  predict  that  you 
will  not  be  unhappy  beyond  the  power  of  conso- 
lation, and  that  God  will  not  abandon  a  heart  like 
yours." 

"  What  you  tell  me,  sir,  does  me  good,  and  I 
wish  that  you  were  my  confessor  in  place  of  M.  le 
Cure*.  I  feel  that  you  would  find  consolation  for 
me,  and  that  I  should  have  faith  in  you  as  in 
God." 

"  Well,  Madeleine,  let  me  at  least,  be  your  coun- 
sellor and  your  friend.  If  misfortune  happen  to 
you,  confide  in  me.  I  can  do  something  for  you, 
perhaps,  if  only  to  speak  of  religion  and  encourage 
you." 

"  Alas !  you  are  right ;  but  you  are  of  the  people 
who  pass  through  our  country,  without  remaining 
with  us.  In  three  days,  perhaps,  you  will  be  more 
than  a  thousand  leagues  from  this  spot." 

"  Take  this  little  pocket-book,  and  do  not  lose  it. 
Can  you  read  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  write  a  little  also ;  thanks  to  my 
brother,  who  has  taught  me  all  that  he  knows*" 


JEALOUSY.  169 

"  Well,  in  it  you  will  find  an  address,  and  some 
papers  which  will  be  of  use  in  causing  me  to  re- 
turn, or  in  guiding  you  to  me,  wherever  I  may 
be." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  am  very  grateful  for  your 
kindness,"  said  Madeleine,  putting  the  pocket-book 
into  her  pocket.  "  I  shall  never  forget  you,  for  I 
see  that  you  know  a  great  deal  about  religion,  and 
your  heart  inclines  to  those  who  are  in  trouble. 
Now  I  know  what  I  shall  do.  If  my  good  friend 
should  prove  ungrateful  to  me,  I  will  send  him  to 
you,  for  I  am  sure  you  will  speak  to  him  so  wisely 
that  he  will  no  longer  wish  to  afflict  me." 

"  I  have,  then,  your  confidence  and  friendship  ?" 

"  Indeed  you  have,"  said  the  bird-tamer,  naively 
pressing  the  arm  of  Le*once  to  her  heart. 

"  Halloa,  there  !"  cried  the  Cure,  emerging  from 
the  thicket,  so  loaded  down  with  mushrooms  that 
he  could  scarcely  stagger  under  them.  "  Here  are 
you  two,  linked  arm  in  arm,  as  though  you  were 
friends  and  equals.  Gently,  Madeleine,  gently. 
You  have  a  head,  but  no  brains,  my  child.  This 
will  turn  out  badly  for  you." 

"  Do  not  scold  her,  Monsieur  le  Cure',"  inter- 
posed Leonce.  "  She  will  do  very  well,  if  you  will 
let  her  alone." 

"  Hum !  hum  !"  returned  the  Cure*,  shaking  his 


170  JEALOUSY. 

head.  "  You,  with  your  virtuous  airs  do  not  re- 
assure me  very  much ;  perhaps  you  are  playing 
the  fool  with  me  to-day.  Come,  now,  let  go  the 
arm  of  that  child,  and  come  with  me  to  see  my 
harvest" 

"  We  will  go  and  deposit  it  at  the  feet  of  Lady 
G  ,"  proposed  Leonce. 

"  And  where  then  is  yours  ?  What !  weeds  and 
flowers !  Pray,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with 
them  ?    They  have  not  even  a  medicinal  value." 

"  The  marquis  will  find  them  of  use  for  his  her- 
barium," returned  Le*once.  "  And  apropos  of  the 
marquis,"  thought  he.  "  I  am  curious  to  know  if 
the  ass  has  yet  shown  the  tip  of  his  ear." 

They  found  Teverino  and  Sabina  in  the  spot 
where  they  had  left  them ;  but  the  negress  and 
the  jockey  had  rambled  off  some  distance.  Both 

the  Marquis  and  Lady  G         seemed  to  enjoy 

their  consultation.  They  were  seated  side  by  side; 
his  air  and  manners  betokened  confidence  and 
satisfaction,  while  she,  with  sparkling  eye  and 
glowing  cheek,  seemed  equally  contented. 

"  What  have  you  there  ?"  said  Lady  G  ,  as 

she  saw  the  Cure*  ostentatiously  spread  out  his 
cryptogamous  plants  upon  the  moss.  "  Ah  !  what 
beautiful pommes  (Tor!  What  charming  decou- 
pures  d'ambre !    What  enormous  chapeaux  de 


JEALOUSY. 


171 


pritre  /*  These  certainly  are  very  singular  and 
magnificent  plants." 

"  Singular !  magnificent  1"  cried  the  Cure,  gross- 
ly scandalized.  "  Say  exquisite,  Madam ;  say 
fragrant,  fresh,  nutritious!  God  has  not  made 
such  things  as  these  to  please  the  eye,  but  to  de- 
light the  stomach  of  man." 

"  Ah !  Pardon,  Monsieur  le  Cure*,"  said  Teve- 
rino,  throwing  away  a  suspicious-looking  individ- 
ual, "  here  is  a  false  mushroom." 

"Very  likely,  very  likely,"  replied  the  Curd 
"  It  is  easy  to  make  a  mistake,  in  the  haste  of 
gathering  them." 

"  You  seem  to  be  possessed  of  universal  know- 
ledge," remarked  Sabina,  glancing  tenderly  at  the 
Marquis.    "  What  is  it  you  do  not  know  P 5 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  my  Marquis  ?" 
asked  Leonce,  drawing  her  aside. 

"  Can  I  think  him  otherwise  than  charming?  Is 
it  possible  there  should  be  two  opinions  concern- 
ing him  ?  If  he  were  not  what  he  appears  to  be, 
you  would  certainly  have  been  most  imprudent, 
dear  doctor,  in  presenting  to  me  so  attractive  a 
man." 


*  Pommes  d'or,  decoupures  d'ambre,  chapeaux  de  Pretre.  The 
names  of  various  species  of  mushrooms. 


172 


JEALOUSY. 


Sabina  uttered  these  words  in  a  tone  of  raillery, 
but  there  was,  in  spite  of  herself,  a  sort  of  watery 
mist  in  her  eyes,  that  betrayed  a  secret  intoxi- 
cation. 

"  By  all  that  is  good !  what  have  I  done  f 
thought  Leonce,  dismayed,  and  he  was  about  to 
inform  her  of  what  a  foolish  jest  she  was  the  dupe, 
when  an  anxious  and  piercing  glance  from  Teve- 
rino  recalled  to  mind  his  promise  and  shut  his 
mouth. 

"  No,  it  is  impossible,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  this 
proud  and  cold  woman  could  not  be  so  grossly 
deceived.  She  could  not  be  so  enamoured  at  first 
sight,  with  a  marquis  of  my  creation,  Neverthe- 
less," he  added,  directing  a  scrutinizing  glance 
towards  Teverino,  at  that  moment  more  brilliant 
than  ever,  "  to  notice  only  the  marvellous  beauty 
of  this  fellow,  the  ease  of  his  manners,  his  air, 
truly  distingue,  to  listen  to  that  melodious  voice, 
that  language,  sparkling  with  poetry  and  wit ! 
"Who  can  be  more  fascinating,  who  can  attract 
more  sympathy?  Does  he  not  stand  there,  an 
Italian  Marquis,  peerless,  perhaps,  in  all  the  aris- 
tocracy of  the  universe  ?  Is  there  a  woman  in  the 
world  so  blind  as  not  to  be  dazzled  by  his  charms  ?" 

Le'once  became  so  absorbed  by  his  anxiety,  that 
Sabina  was  compelled  to  shake  him  to  rouse  him 


JEALOUSY.  173 

from  his  re  very.  The  sun  was  getting  low,  the 
weather  was  propitious  for  returning.  The  Cure', 
still  more  impatient  to  cook  his  trout  and  mush- 
rooms, than  to  allay  the  uneasiness  of  his  house- 
keeper and  sacristan,  invited  his  companions  to 
return  with  him  to  his  parsonage.  Madeleine, 
seated  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  party,  was  com- 
pletely dumb,  and  apparently  indifferent  to  every  , 
thing  going  on  around  her. 

"  Seigneur  Leontio"  said  the  vagabond  in 
Italian  to  Leonce,  as  they  were  about  to  take  their 
places  in  the  britzska,  "  Are  you  in  love  with 
the  Lady  Sabina?" 

"  You  are  very  curious,  Signor  Marchese  /"  re- 
plied Leonce,  with  ironical  tartness. 

"  No,  but  I  am  your  friend,  a  royal  friend,  and 
I  ought  to  know  your  sentiments,  so  that  I  may 
not  oppose  them." 

u  You  are  a  coxcomb,  my  dear  sir." 

"  Indeed,  already  irritated  ?  Well,  what  did  I 
tell  you  ?  that  twenty-four  hours  between  us  would 
be  the  end  of  the  world.  No  matter.  I  have 
divined  your  secret,  and  will  not  insist.  You  shall 
acknowledge,  Leonce,  that  Teverino  is  a  gallant 
man." 

And  springing  upon  the  box,  he  called  out,  "  I 
am  to  be  coachman.    Dame  Erebus,  you  must  sit 


174  JEALOUSY, 
inside  of  the  carriage,  for  I  drive.    I  have  a  pas- 
sion for  horses !" 

"  That  is  unkind,"  said  Lady  G  ,  evidently 

displeased  at  this  arrangement.  "  Our  society, 
then,  has  no  more  attraction  for  you,  Marquis  ?" 

"  Besides,  you  are  not  familiar  with  the  coun- 
try," objected  the  Cure.  "  We  have  already  lost 
our  way,  and  I  fear  that  under  your  guidance  we 
shall  have  to  sup  on  the  evening  dew,  and  sleep 
under  the  canopy  of  the  stars." 

"  Leave  the  Marquis  to  do  as  he  feels  disposed," 
said  Leonce,  "  and  if  you  speak  of  the  stars,  trust 
yourself  to  his.  Do  you  know  how  to  drive?" 
he  asked  Teverino. 

"  Perhaps !"  replied  the  latter,  "  although  I 
have  never  tried." 

"  Good  heavens !"  cried  the  Growler.  "  You 
will  surely  overturn  us  all  and  break  our  bones. 
It  will  not  do  to  joke  with  these  precipices  and 
narrow  roads.  Sir  !  Sir  !  Give  up  the  reins  to  this 
young  lad,  who  understands  driving." 

"  Don't  be  fool-hardy,"  said  Leonce  in  an  under 
tone  to  Teverino.  "  If  you  have  never  handled 
the  reins,  you  had  better  not  meddle  with  them." 

"  The  knowledge  will  come  to  me  intuitively," 
replied  the  Marquis.  "  I  feel  myself  inspired  to 
conduct  these  horses  of  the  sun." 


JEALOUSY. 


175 


"Whereupon  he  cracked  his  whip  and  the  horses 
started  off  at  full  gallop. 

"  Not  this  way,  not  this  way !"  cried  the  Cure*, 
swearing  in  spite  of  himself.  "  Where  the  devil 
are  you  going?  Saint  Apollinaire  is  upon  the 
left." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Abbe,"  returned  the  Phae- 
ton, "  I  know  these  mountains  better  than  you." 

And  leaning  back  towards  Le*once,  who  was 
seated  directly  behind  him,  u  where  shall  we  go  V9 
he  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  Everywhere,  no  where— to  the  devil,  if  you 
choose,"  replied  Leonce,  in  the  same  tone. 

"  Then,  to  all  the  devils,"  responded  Teverino, 
and  again  cracking  his  whip,  he  paid  no  further 
attention  to  the  rage  of  the  Cure,  who  was  soon 
rendered  pale  and  speechless  with  terror. 

His  fear  was  only  too  well  grounded.  Teverino 
was  more  adroit  than  experienced.  Naturally  rash, 
and  endowed  with  presence  of  mind,  agility,  and 
physical  strength  superior  to  that  of  the  majority 
of  men,  he  despised  danger,  and  did  not  always 
comprehend  what  moral  or  material  obstacles  he 
could  overcome  or  avoid.  In  this  persuasion,  and 
enchanted  with  the  spirit  and  velocity  of  the  horses 
of  Le*once,  he  guided  them  along  the  edge  of  pre- 
cipices, disdaining  to  hold  them  in  when  the  road 


176 


JEALOUSY. 


became  so  frightfully  narrow  as  to  cause  them  to 
graze  the  trunks  of  trees  and  masses  of  rocks  at  its 
side,  urging  them  up  steep  acclivities,  descending 
them  at  full  speed,  and  finally  bringing  up  the 
burning  wheels  of  the  vehicle  upon  the  extreme 
verge  of  a  perpendicular  ravine,  at  the  bottom  of 
which  roared  an  angry  torrent.  At  first,  Sabina  was 
seriously  afraid ;  his  jests  appeared  to  her  in  very 
bad  taste,  and  she  began  to  fear,  that,  after  all,  this 
Italian  marquis  was  only  a  specimen  of  that  class 
of  ill-bred  individuals,  who  derive  a  foolish  plea- 
sure from  the  sufferings  of  a  timid  woman.  She 
presented,  however,  no  external  indication  of  an- 
noyance or  displeasure,  thoroughly  comprehending 
that  the  only  vengeance  permitted  to  the  weak, 
under  these  circumstances,  is  to  give  no  opportu- 
nity for  brutal  audacity  to  enjoy  the  torments  it 
inflicts.  Sabina's  pride  was  so  great,  as  to  make 
her  prefer  death  itself,  rather  than  betray  her  ter- 
ror even  by  a  frown.  Therefore,  apparently  calm 
and  self-possessed,  she  rallied  the  Cure,  and  laughed 
at  the  idea  of  danger,  although,  at  heart,  far  less 
tranquil  than  he. 

But  soon,  her  fear  gave  place  to  a  sort  of  exalted 
courage  ;  for  she  saw  that  Le'once  was  jealous  of  the 
incredible  address  of  the  marquis,  and  as,  after  all, 
the  danger  was  vanquished  as  soon  as  met,  she  con* 


JEALOUSY.  177 

tinually  found  new  occasions  to  admire  Teverino, 
who  often  turned  towards  her,  as  if  to  gain  new 
strength  from  her  approbation. 

"  He  drives  like  a  fool,"  said  Leonce,  measuring 
the  abyss  with  his  eye,  "  and  we  shall  be  lucky  if 
we  always  escape  thus.  Are  you  not  afraid,  mi- 
lady ?    Shall  I  not  try  to  bring  him  to  reason  ?" 

"  Of  what  would  you  have  me  afraid  ?"  she  re- 
plied, regarding  the  abyss,  in  her  turn,  with  a  su- 
perb indifference.  "  Is  not  your  friend  a  magician  ? 
We  are  carried  along  by  a  miracle,  and  we  might 
follow  him  even  upon  the  water,  if  you  all  pos- 
sessed my  faith  in  his  power." 

"  It  is  sheer  fanaticism,  madam,  this  feeling  you 
have  for  the  marquis !" 

"  And  you  have  it  no  less  than  I,  since  you  con- 
fide to  him  your  own  destiny  as  well  as  ours." 

"  I  must  acknowledge  that  he  is  much  more  rash 
in  his  movements  than  I  had  foreseen.  He  seems 
drunk  with  the  furious  pleasure  which  so  much 
success  has  caused  him." 

"  He  has  an  energetic  nature,  the  courage  of  a 
lion,"  said  Sabina,  piqued  at  this  tacit  reproach. 
v  This  danger  is  exciting,  and  of  all  that  you  have 
invented  to-day,  it  pleases  me  the  most," 

"  In  that  case,  we  will  double  the  dose.  Wake 

tip,  there,  marquis,  are  vou  asleep  ?" 
11 


178 


JEALOUSY. 


Teverino  gave  such  a  spring  as  to  send  the  Cure*, 
three  quarters  fainting  with  fear,  into  the  bottom 
of  the  britzska,  and  with  one  only  remaining  idea, 
that  of  saying  his  In  manus. 

Sabina  shrieked  with  laughter,  the  negress  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross.  As  for  Madeleine,  she  was 
truly  the  only  member  of  the  party  thoroughly 
brave,  and  indifferent  to  danger.  She  watched 
the  tranquil  golden  clouds,  where  the  vultures 
hovered  to  and  fro,  agitated  by  the  approach  of 
evening. 


vin. 

ITALY  !  ITALY  ! 

The  horses  having  become  somewhat  subdued 
and  quieted  in  dragging  their  load  up  a  long  and 
difficult  hill,  the  Cure  recovered  the  use  of  his 
senses.  The  precipice  had  disappeared,  and  the 
carriage  followed  a  narrow  cut  in  the  rocks,  in 
very  bad  condition,  but  from  which  a  fall  could 
have  no  such  grave  consequences  as  from  the  steep 
acclivity  they  had  just  passed. 

"Where  are  we  now?"  cried  the  holy  man, 


JEALOUSY.  179 

slightly  relieved.  "  The  country  is  no  longer  fa- 
miliar to  me.  The  view  is  limited  on  every  side, 
but  from  what  I  can  discover,  I  am  convinced 
that  we  are  not  on  the  side  of  my  parish." 

"  Never  mind,  Abbe,"  said  Teverino.  "  All 
roads  lead  to  Kome,  and  in  following  this  cross- 
road, a  little  rough,  I  admit,  we  avoid  a  long 
detour  of  the  mountain." 

"  If  we  can  cross  the  torrent,"  quietly  objected 
Madeleine. 

"  Who  speaks  of  the  torrent  ?"  cried  the  Mar- 
quis.   "  Is  it  you,  little  one  ?" 

"  It  is  I,"  responded  the  young  girl.  "  If  the 
waters  are  low,  we  can  cross  them.    If  not  n 

"  If  not,  we  will  cross  the  bridge." 

"A  bridge  for  foot-passengers?" 

"  We  will  cross  it ;  I  swear  by  Mahomet." 

"  Well,  then,  I  am  willing,"  said  the  indifferent 
Madeleine. 

"  And  I  swear  by  the  holy  cross  that  I  will 
not  remain  in  the  carriage,  and  I  will  be  the  last 
one  to  cross,"  thought  the  Cure'  to  himself. 

The  torrent  did  not  appear  much  swollen,  and 
Teverino  was  on  the  point  of  driving  into  it, 
when  Madeleine,  who  was  bending  forward,  calm- 
ly on  the  alert,  violently  jerked  his  arm. 

"  The  water  is  not  clear,"  said  she.    "  A  large 


180 


JEALOUSY. 


avalanche  of  snow  must  have  fallen  into  it,  not 
two  hours  since.    You  will  not  be  able  to  pass." 

"  Milady,  will  you  trust  yourself  to  me  ?"  said 
Teverino.  "  We  will  go  through,  I  answer  for  it. 
Those  who  are  afraid  had  better  alight." 

"  I  certainly  shall  get  out,"  cried  the  Cure', 
climbing  over  the  foot-board.  The  negress  fol- 
lowed him,  and  the  jockey,  hesitating  between  a 
sense  of  honor  and  the  fear  of  drowning,  placed 
himself  in  front  of  the  horses,  waiting  to  see 
which  side  should  carry  the  day. 

"  Sabina,  descend  from  the  carriage,"  said  Le- 
once,  in  an  authoritative  tone. 

"I  shall  remain  where  I  am,"  she  replied.  "For 
the  first  time,  I  experience  the  pleasure  of  being 
in  peril,  and  I  wish  to  enjoy  the  emotion." 

"I  will  not  suffer  it,"  said  Le*once,  forcibly 
seizing  her  arm.    u  It  is  an  act  of  insanity." 

"  You  have  no  right  over  my  life,  Leonce,  and 
the  Marquis,  moreover,  answers  for  it." 

"  The  Marquis  is  a  fool !"  cried  Leonce,  exas- 
perated beyond  control  to  see  Lady  G  's  sud- 
den passion  betray  itself  so  ridiculously. 

"  The  Marquis  turned  and  regarded  Leonce 
with  flaming  eyes. 

"You  might  say  that  you  are  two  fools,"  said 
Sabina,  trying  to  conceal  the  agitation  this  quarrel 


JEALOUSY 


181 


caused  her.  "  I  yield  to* your  solicitations,  Leonce  ; 
Marquis,  I  hope  that  you  also  will  alight.  The 
jockey,  who  swims  like  a  fish,  can  risk  himself 
alone  with  the  carriage." 

"  I  swim  better  than  all  the  jockeys  and  fish  in 
the  world,'7  answered  Teverino.  "  Moreover,  I 
do  not  see  why  this  boy's  life  should  be  exposed 
rather  than  mine.  In  my  opinion,  Madam,  one 
man's  life  is  worth  as  much  as  another's;  and  if  I 
am  willing  to  risk  the  passage,  it  is  I  alone  who 
should  submit  to  the  consequences.  How  much 
are  your  horses  worth,  Leonce  ?"  he  added,  with 
an  air  of  blustering  opulence. 

"  I  make  you  a  present  of  them,"  said  Leonce. 
"  Drown  them,  if  you  will.  But  I  have  two  words 
to  say  to  you  on  the  other  bank,"  he  continued, 
dropping  his  voice. 

"  You  will  say  nothing  whatever  to  me  ;  but 
to-morrow  at  two  o'clock,  it  is  I  who  will  speak  to 
you,"  returned  Teverino.  "  You  are  the  aggres- 
sor. I  have  the  right  to  choose  the  time,  and  in 
exchange,  I  leave  to  you  the  choice  of  weapons. 
Meanwhile,  since  you  have  introduced  me  to  this 
lady,  I  ask  you,  out  of  respect  to  yourself,  to  as- 
sume for  the  time  being,  an  intimate  friendship 
towards  me,  which  shall  explain  your  rudeness." 
"  A  duel !  A  duel  with  you?   Well,  be  it  so* 


182 


JEALOUSY. 


replied  Leonce.  "  Then  speaking  aloud,  he  added, 
"  If  we  do  not  fight,  Marquis,  after  the  inter- 
change of  such  tender  compliments,  there  is  at 
least  no  reason  to  charge  us  with  cowardice,  and 
to  prove  it,  I  propose  that  we  cross  the  water  to- 
gether. Upon  my  word,  what  are  you  doing 
there?"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  saw  Madeleine  swiftly 
climb  upon  the  box,  and  seat  herself  at  the  side 
of  the  Marquis. 

"  Oh  !  there's  no  danger  for  me,  and  it  is  best 
that  I  should  be  here,  in  order  to  direct  your 
course.  To  the  right,  M.  le  Marquis,  and  then  to 
the  left.    Proceed  I" 

The  other  travelers,  having  arrived  at  the  centre 
of  the  bridge,  stood  there  in  a  sort  of  stupor,  to 
see  them  effect  this  perilous  passage.  They  had 
gained  in  safety  the  middle  of  the  stream,  when 
the  violence  of  the  current  raised  the  carriage, 
and  it  began  to  float  like  a  wherry,  drawing  the 
horses  with  it  towards  the  sharp  arches  of  the 
pointed  bridge. 

"  Yield  to  the  current,  and  return,"  said  Made- 
leine, as  calmly  as  though  it  were  an  easy  thing 
to  do. 

The  horses,  energetically  stimulated,  and  strong 
enough,  fortunately,  to  resist  the  action  of  this 
light  vehicle,  made  several  bounds,  lost  their  foot* 


JEALOUSY.  183 

hold,  began  to  swim,  recovered  their  footing  on  a 
rock,  then  stumbled,  but  reined  up  by  the  power- 
ful hand  of  the  adventurer,  gained,  withdut  any- 
painful  accident,  a  spot  less  deep,  whence  they 
easily  reached  the  bank,  and  all  without  hav- 
ing broken  a  particle  of  the  harness,  or  wetting 
their  conductors,  except  with  some  splashes  of  mud. 
'k  You  see,  Signora,  that  you  might  have  ac- 

compained  us,"  said  Teverino  to  Lady  G  ,  as 

she  ran  forward  to  congratulate  him  upon  his 
victory. 

"  Not  at  all !"  said  the  Curd,  greatly  affected  by 
the  danger  he  had  avoided.  "  You  would  have 
been  carried  away  if  the  carriage  had  been  more 
heavily  laden.  I,  surely,  who  am  not  very  small, 
would  have  exposed  every  one  of  you  in  exposing 
myself.    I  was  very  sensible  of  that." 

They  all  re-entered  the  carriage.  The  jockey 
took  the  seat  behind,  and  the  bird-tamer  remained 
on  the  box,  at  the  side  of  Teverino,  with  whom 
she  apparently  kept  up  an  animated  conversation. 
But  they  spoke  in  an  undertone,  with  their  heads 
close  together,  whereupon  Sabina  carelessly  re- 
marked that  Madeleine's  good  friend  might,  per- 
haps, be  supplanted,  if  she  did  not  take  care. 

u  No  danger  of  that,"  answered  Madeleine, 
whose  organ  of  hearing  was  as  delicate  as  a  bird's, 


184: 


JEALOUSY. 


and  who,  without  seeming  to  listen,  had  lost  none 
of  Sabina's  words.  "  I  shall  not  be  the  first  to 
change." 

"  He  will  not !  I  swear  by  my  eternal  salvation," 
gaily  exclaimed  the  marquis.  "  I  cannot  com- 
prehend that  any  human  being  could  betray  so 
good  and  lovely  a  child  as  you." 
.  "  This  is  the  way,"  said  the  Cure,  "  that  these 
fine  gentlemen,  with  their  compliments,  turn  the 
head  of  this  little  girl.  One  offers  to  her  his  arm 
in  walking,  just  as  he  would  to  a  fine  lady;  the 
other  tells  her  she  is  lovely,  and  she  is  so  foolish 
as  not  to  perceive  that  they  are  both  laughing 
at  her." 

"  It  is  you,  then,  Le"once,  who  offer  her  your 
arm  ?"  said  Sabina,  sarcastically. 

"  Why  not  ?  Have  you  not  also  taken  her  arm, 
Madam?  From  the  moment  we  invited  her  to 
become  our  companion  and  our  guest,  ought  we 
not  treat  her  as  an  equal?  Why  should  M.  le 
Cure*  blame  us  for  practising  the  law  of  fraternity? 
It  is  one  of  the  innocent  and  romantic  pleasures  , 
of  our  excursion." 

"  I  am  not  fond  of  romantic  things,"  said  the 
growler  ;  "  they  are  too  evanescent,  and  exist  only 
in  the  brain.  You,  young  people  of  quality, 
amuse  yourselves  an  instant  with  the  simplicity 


JEALOUSY. 


185 


of  your  inferiors ;  and  then,  when  you  have  paid 
for  it,  as  you  say,  you  think  no  more  about  them. 
Suppose  Madeleine  does  listen  to  you,  gentlemen, 
we  shall  soon  see  who  are  her  true  friends ;  whe- 
ther the  great  lord,  who  will  refuse  her  even  a 
place  in  his  memory,  or  the  old  priest,  who,  by 
means  of  reproving  her  faults  as  she  deserves, 
will  lead  her  to  repentance,  and  make  peace  for 
her  with  God." 

"  The  good  Cure  really  frightens  me,"  said 
Sabina,  addressing  Leonce.  "  I  hope,  my  friend, 
that  Madeleine  is  not  on  the  road  to  perdition  V 

"  I  can  answer  for  myself,"  replied  Leonce. 

"  But  not  for  the  marquis?" 

"  I  confess  to  you  that  I  do  not  answer  for  the 
marquis.  He  is  handsome,  eloquent,  impassioned ; 
all  the  women  please  him,  and  he  pleases  all  the 
women.    Is  not  that  your  opinibn,  Sabina?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  Perhaps  it  would  be 
best  to  make  this  little  creature  come  into  the 
carriage  with  us." 

"  All  the  more,"  said  the  Cure',  "  that  the  road 
is  getting  very  bad,  the  day  is  departing,  and  if 
the  attention  of  the  marquis  is  diverted  from  his 
horses,  our  safety  is  at  stake.  Better  give  him 
the  negress  in  exchange  for  the  society  of  the 
bird-tamer." 


186  JEALOUSY. 

"  I  cannot  vouch  for  his  not  being  as  much 
taken  up  with  the  black  as  with  the  blond,"  res- 
ponded Leonce.  "  The  surest  way  will  be  to  place 
him  tete-a-tete  with  you.  Cure." 

This  counsel  prevailed,  and  Madeleine  resumed 
her  seat  in  the  carriage,  without  evincing  either 
ill-humor,  shame  or  regret.  Her  melancholy  had 
vanished,  and  the  reflection  from  the  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  illuminated  her  animated  cheeks  with 
the  sparkling  glow  of  youth  and  life. 

"  Look,  now,"  said  Leonce,  addressing  Lady 

G  ,  in  English,  "  and  observe  how  beautiful 

this  plain  little  creature  again  appears.  The  burn- 
ing breath  of  Teverino  has  transfigured  her." 

Sabina  tried  to  answer  him  in  the  same  light 
tone  of  badinage,  but  the  unutterably  sad  expres- 
sion of  her  eyes,  contradicted  the  language  of  her 
tongue.  Jealousy,  under  the  form  of  disdain,  was 
kindled  in  her  heart,  and  all  that  Leonce  had  insi- 
nuated of  the  good  fortune  of  the  marquis,  filled 
her  with  shame.  She,  therefore,  endeavored  to 
persuade  herself,  that,  unlike  Madeleine,  she  had 
not  felt  the  burning  breath,  as  the  cloud  that  he- 
ralds the  storm,  pass  over  her  head. 

More  than  half  an  hour  elapsed  before  she  could 
succeed  in  dispelling  her  chagrin  and  resume  her 
proud  tranquillity.  At  last,  she  began  to  feel  her. 


JEALOUS  T.  187 

self  victorious,  and  the  charm  seemed  to  lose  its 
magical  dominion  over  her. 

Teverino,  in  order  to  divert  the  Cure,  who,  flat- 
tering himself  that  he  was  on  the  road  to  the  vil- 
lage, became  more  and  more  astonished  that  he 
could  not  recognize  the  country,  entered  with  him 
upon  a  grave  discussion  of  theological  questions. 
In  his  life  of  adventure,  he  had  rubbed  against  ail 
classes  of  people  and  all  sorts  of  things.  He  had 
associated  intimately  with  prelates  and  educated 
monks,  and  his  was  a  mind  to  take  in  and  remem- 
ber, without  any  effort  on  his  own  part.  His  me- 
mory was  stored  with  numerous  fragments  of  cita- 
tions, commentaries  and  objections  which  he  had 
heard  debated,  perhaps  while  passing  the  dishes 
to  a  table-full  of  apostolical  gourmands,  or  while 
dusting  the  stalls  for  a  chapter  of  regular  theolo- 
gians. He  was  not  nearly  so  well  instructed  as  the 
good  Cure*,  but  he  could  appear,  for  the  time  being, 
much  stronger  in  metaphysical  quibbles.  The 
Cure*  was  astonished  and  scandalized  at  this  medley 
of  subtlety  and  ignorance,  and  the  vagabond,  more 
skilful  in  this,  than  Moliere's  "  3Iedecin  malgre 
lui,  feeling  that  he  had  the  advantage  in  argument, 
succeeded  in  confusing  the  priest  by  evading  his 
direct  questions,  and  by  overwhelming  him  with 
inquiries,  pedantically  trifling.  Finally,  the  growler 


188 


JEALOUSY. 


began  seriously  to  question  with  himself,  whether 
his  opponent  were  a  rude  heretic,  armed  at  all 
points,  or  an  ignorant  jester,  who  was  laughing  at 
him  in  his  beard. 

From  time  to  time,  detached  sentences  of  their 
dispute,  reached  the  ears  of  their  companions. 

"  That  is  a  heresy,  a  condemned  heresy,"  cried 
the  Cure,  who  no  longer  paid  attention  to  the 
roughness  and  difficulties  of  their  route. 

"  I  know  it,  M.  PAbbe,"  replied  Teverino,  "  and 
it  should  be  refuted.  How  do  you  set  about  it  ?  I 
bet  that  you  don't  know." 

"  I  should  rely  upon  grace,  sir,  nothing  but 
grace." 

"  That  is  to  evade  the  difficulty.  A  learned 
theologian  disdains  to  make  use  of  a  subterfuge." 

"  A  subterfuge,  sir !  Do  you  call  that  a  subter- 
fuge?" 

"  In  this  instance,  M.  PAbbd,  yes.  For  you 
havre  the  Council  of  Trent  with  you,  and  you  cer- 
tainly do  not  doubt  that?" 

"  The  Council  of  Trent  has  given  no  interpreta- 
tion of  that  point.  You  are  going  to  bring  up 
some  far-fetched  decree  :  I  see  what  you  are  about. 
That  is  your  custom." 

"  Our  growler  seems  beside  himself,"  said  Sabi- 
na  to  Leonce.    "  Your  friend  is  truly  learned.  I 


JEALOUSY. 


189 


regret  not  being  able  to  hear  the  whole  conver- 
sation." 

"  Hie  marquis  knows  a  little  of  every  thing," 
replied  Leonce. 

"  Only  a  little  ?  I  might  believe  it  on  his  assur- 
ance. Many  Italians  are  thus ;  it  is  the  meridional 
character." 

"  It  is  a  character  that  has  its  charm  and  its 
caprice,  the  one,  so  puerile  as  to  force  us  to  laugh 
at  it ;  the  other,  so  powerful  as  to  compel  us  to 
submit  to  it." 

"  My  dear  Ldonce,"  said  Sabina,  comprehending 
the  epigram  concealed  in  the  melancholy  intona- 
tions of  his  voice,  "  to  perceive,  is,  at  the  most, 
only  to  remark,  it  surely  does  not  imply  submission. 
Allow  me  to  speak  to  you  of  your  friend  as  a 
stranger,  and  to  say,  that  he  is  a  statue  of  clay, 
veined  with  gold." 

"  Very  possibly,"  he  resumed,  "  but  gold  is  a 
thing  so  precious  and  tempting,  that  it  is  some- 
times sought  even  in  the  mire." 

"  That  is  a  word  which  makes  me  shudder." 

w  We  will  use  the  word  clay  then,  as  an  emblem 
of  fragility ;  but,  I  advise  you  to  make  no  applica- 
tion of  it  to  the  character  of  the  marquis.  Study 
him  for  yourself,  Sabina.  He  is  the  most  remark- 
able subject  of  observation  I  can  offer  you,  and  it 


190 


JEALOUSY. 


is  not  done  without  design  on  my  part.  But  do 
not  allow  yourself  to  be  dazzled,  if  you  would  see 
clearly.  I  confess,  that  I  myself,  having  for  a  long 
time  past  lost  sight  of  this  friend,  who,  like  all 
other  powerful  organizations,  is  peculiarly  im- 
pressed by  surrounding  circumstances,  I,  to  say  the 
least,  hardly  know  him.  It  is  necessary  for  me  to 
study  him  anew,  and  I  cannot  answer  for  him,  be- 
yond a  certain  point.  Be  warned,  therefore,  and 
be  wary." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  those  last  words?  Do 
you  think  me  in  danger  of  enthusiasm  V 

"  You  know  very  well  that  you  have  just  run 
this  danger,  to  the  point  of  being  willing  to  cross 
the  torrent  with  him,  at  the  peril  of  your  life,  in 
order  to  prove  to  him  your  confidence  and  sub- 
mission." 

"  Spare  me  the  pain  of  hearing  such  improper 
and  offensive  words.  One  might  say  you  are 
malicious, 

"  Do  you  not  see  that  I  am  angry  ?" 

"  Indeed,  you  speak  like  a  jealous  man." 

"  Friendship  has  its  jealousies  as  well  as  love. 
These  were  your  own  words,  this  very  morning." 

"  I  admit  it.  Jealousy  gives  grace  and  life  to 
friendship,"  said  Sabina,  with  an  irresistible  move- 
ment of  coquetry.    She  was  alarmed  at  having 


JEALOUSY.  -91 

come  so  near  loving  Teverino,  and  forced  herself 
to  stimulate  the  affection  of  Leonce,  as  a  preserv- 
ative against  future  danger.  She  succeeded  only 
too  well.  He  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  clasped 
between  his  own  burning  palms,  until  she  with- 
drew it.  Madeleine,  who  had  appeared  to  be  in  a 
tranquil  slumber,  awoke  at  this  movement,  and 

gazed  upon  Lady  G  with  such  evident  aston- 

isment  as  to  confuse  her.  Sabina  bestowed  a 
gentle  caress  upon  the  bird-tamer,  to  drive  all 
hostility  from  her  thoughts,  but  Madeleine  seemed 
to  divine  that  it  was  not  heartfelt,  and  smiled, 
apparently  with  more  malice  than  one  could  have 
believed  her  capable  of. 

"  Zounds !  where  are  we  V  suddenly  cried  the 
Cure,  looking  around  him. 
-    "  At  Saint  Jerome,"  replied  Teverino. 

"The  question  is  no  longer  concerning  Saint 
Jerome,  sir,  but  the  direction  you  are  taking  us. 
What  valley  is  this  ?  Where  does  this  road  lead  ? 
In  short,  where  the  devil  have  you  brought  us  V 

They  had  succeeded  in  reaching  the  summit  of 
a  long  and  painful  acclivity,  when,  turning  a 
point  of  the  rock,  which,  for  the  last  hour,  had 
completely  hemmed  them  in,  they  beheld  an  im- 
mense valley  spread  out  at  their  feet,  at  an  as- 
tounding depth  below.    From  the  plateau  on 


192  JEALOUSY. 

which  our  travelers  found  themselves,  gigantic 
rocks,  crowned  with  snow,  raised  their  peaks  to 
the  sky;  nature,  there,  was  barren,  fantastic  and 
fearfully  romantic ;  but,  in  front,  the  path  again 
sloped  rapidly  down,  leading,  by  a  thousand 
picturesque  windings,  to  the  plains  below,  which 
presented  all  the  smiling  and  richly  colored  as- 
pects of  a  fertile  country.  What  can  be  more 
beautiful  than  such  a  spectacle  at  sunset,  when, 
beyond  the  angular  outline  of  Alpine  nature,  the 
eye  takes  in  the  splendor  of  fruitful  lands,  the 
green  slopes  of  intermediate  hills,  glowing  with 
the  brilliant  hues  of  the  western  sky,  unfathom- 
able depths  of  verdure  unrolled  in  space,  rivers 
and  burning  lakes  scattered  over  this  vast  tableau, 
like  mirrors  of  liquid  fire,  and  still  beyond,  blu- 
ish zones,  mingling,  without  confounding,  the 
.violet  horizon,  and  the  heavens  above,  sublime 
with  light  and  transparency. 

Sabina  uttered  a  cry  of  admiration.  "  Ah 
Leonce  !"  said  she,  again  taking  his  hand,  "  how  I 
thank  you  for  having  brought  me  hither !  May 
God  be  praised  for  this  journey  I" 

"  And  I  also,  I  thank  you  very  much,"  said  the 
Cure,  with  an  accent  of  despair.  a  We  have  no- 
thing left  but  to  recommend  ourselves  to  God; 
supper  and  lodging  are  out  of  the  question.  Here 


JEALOUSY. 


193 


we  are,  ten  leagues  from  home,  and  traveling  in 
a  straight  line  towards  Yenice  or  Milan,  instead 
of  seeking  our  polar  star,  the  cock  of  our  church 
steeple." 

"  In  place  of  such  blasphemy  as  this,  Cure," 
said  Teverino,  "  you  ought  to  throw  yourself  on 
your  knees,  and  bless  the  eternal  creator  and 
preserver  of  these  great  works.  You  make  me 
thoroughly  dissatisfied  with  your  faith,  and  did  I 
not  love  you,  I  should  forthwith  denounce  you  to 
my  uncle,  the  holy  father.  Is  it  thus,  senseless 
and  unprincipled  abbe,  that  you  hail  the  soil  of 
Italy,  and  the  road  which  conducts  to  the  Eternal 
City?" 

"  Do  I  then  behold  Italy?"  cried  Sabina,  spring- 
ing to  the  ground.  "Dear  Italy!  the  dream  of 
my  childhood,  but  of  which  my  traitor  husband 
will  scarcely  allow  me  to  look  upon  a  picture! 
But  what,  marquis !  have  you  really  brought  us 
into  Italy  ?" 

"  0  cava  jpatria  /"  sang  Teverino,  his  beautiful 
voice  striking  up  the  noble  recitative  from 
Taxcredi,  'Terra  degli  avi  miei,  ti  lacioP 

"  Shut  your  ears,"  whispered  Leonce  to  Sabina. 

"  This  is  a  new  fascination  against  which  I  had 

not  warned  you.  The  marquis  sings  like  Orphe'us." 

u  Ah  !  it  is  the  voice  of  Italy.    It  matters  little 
12 


194 


JEALOUSY. 


to  me  from  whose  mouth  it  gushes.  My  fancy 
whispers  to  me  that  the  earth  and  sky  are  singing 
this  canticle  of  love,  and  causing  it  to  penetrate 
my  heart.  Italy !  Oh,  my  God !  shall  I  at  last 
be  able  to  say  that  I  have  greeted  the  horizon  of 
Italy  !  It  is  to  your  ingenious  will,  Leonce,  and 
to  the  intrepidity  of  our  guide  that  I  owe  this 
supreme  delight !    Let  me  bless  you  both !" 

Thus  speaking,  Sabina  presented  a  hand  to 
each,  and  proceeded  with  them  towards  a  cabin, 
built  of  rough  boards,  at  the  door  of  which  stood 
a  custom-house  official,  a  fierce  old  soldier,  in  a 
uniform  of  a  pale  green  color,  like  the  foliage  of 
young  spruce  trees,  and  whose  moustache  was 
white  as  the  snow  on  the  mountain  tops. 

"  Guardian  of  Italy !"  laughingly  spoke  the 
Marquis.  "  Cerberus,  chained  at  the  entrance  of 
Tartarus  !  Open  to  us  the  door  of  Eden,  so  that 
we  may  pass  from  earth  to  heaven." 

The  officer  regarded  with  an  air  of  surprise  and 
doubt,  the  countenance  of  the  vagabond,  whom, 
only  a  week  previous,  he  had  with  great  hesitation 
permitted  to  cross  the  line,  although  his  passport 
was  regularly  made  out.  This  encounter  plainly 
showed  to  Teverino,  that  fine  clothes  and  a  good 
appearance  are  the  best  letters  of  credit,  for 
scarcely  had  Leonce  exhibited  his  papers  and  an- 


JEALOUSY. 


195 


swered  for  all  the  members  of  his  party,  than  the 
vagabond  was  allowed  to  go  on  his  way,  unques- 
tioned. The  carriage  was  stopped  a  moment  and 
visited  for  form's  sake.  A  piece  of  gold,  care- 
lessly thrown  by  Leonce  at  the  officer's  feet, 
cleared  away  all  difficulties. 

"  And  now,"  said  Sabina,  continuing  to  walk 
in  front  of  Leonce  and  the  Marquis,  "  It  is  really, 
not  metaphorically  true,  that  my  feet  press  the 
soil  of  Italy  !  It  is  her  fragrance  that  I  breathe, 
and  her  sky  that  illumines  mine  eyes  !" 

"  Stop  here,  Signora,"  said  Madeleine,  seizing 
hold  of  Sabina's  robe.  "  I  have  promised  to  show 
you  marvellous  things  at  sunset,  and  M.  le  Curd 
will  not  sleep  to-night,  if  I  break  my  word." 

"  Provided  I  sleep  anywhere,  I  shall  only  con- 
sider myself  too  happy,"  replied  the  Cure,  out  of 
breath  with  the  exertion  he  was  making  to  keep 
up  with  Sabina.  And  seeing  her  seat  herself  on 
the  road-side,  resolved  to  witness  the  accomplish- 
ments of  the  bird-tamer,  he  sank  down  on  the 
grass,  and  fanned  himself  with  his  large  hat.  He 
had  no  longer  strength  for  resistance  or  complaint. 

"  This  is  the  hour,"  said  the  bird-tamer,  leaping 
upon  the  rocks  that  marked  the  culminating  point 
of  this  Alpine  crest.  With  the  agility  of  a  cat, 
ehe  clambered  from  plateau  to  plateau,  until  ar- 


196 


JEALOUSY. 


rived  at  the  last,  where,  standing  with  her  profile 
painted  against  the  crimson  back-ground  of  the 
sky,  she  began  to  wave  her  scarlet  flag.  At  the 
same  time,  she  beckoned  to  the  spectators  to  look 
in  the  direction  of  her  finger ;  then,  with  uplifted 
arms,  she  traced  a  magic  circle,  to  indicate  the 
region  in  which  she  saw  the  eagles  whirling  about. 

But  Sabina  looked  in  vain  ;  the  birds  were  lost 
in  such  an  immensity  of  space,  as  to  be  discerned 
only  by  the  phenomenal  vision  of  the  bird-tamer. 

At  last,  she  perceived  some  indefinite  black 
points,  swimming  about,  as  it  were,  beyond  the 
clouds  ;  then  they  seemed  to  come  nearer,  their 
number  visibly  augmented,  as  well  as  their  size. 
Finally,  the  great  extent  of  their  wings  attracted 
attention,  and  their  wild  cries  could  be  heard  like 
a  diabolical  concert  in  the  region  of  the  tempests. 

For  some  time  they  whirled  round  and  round, 
describing  great  circles  in  the  air,  which  gradually 
diminished  until  they  formed  a  compact  group, 
perpendicularly  over  the  head  of  the  bird-tamer. 
Here  they  balanced  themselves  on  their  wings, 
descending  and  ascending  like  balloons,  seemingly 
paralyzed  by  an  invincible  mistrust. 

Then  it  was  that  Madeleine,  covering  her  head, 
hiding  her  hands  in  her  cloak,  and  gathering  up 
her  feet  under  her  petticoat,  sank  down  upon  the 


JEALOUSY.  ]97 

rock  like  a  corpse  ;  at  the  same  instant  the  cloud 
of  carnivorous  birds  pounced  upon  her,  as  if  to 
seize  their  prey. 

"  That  play  is  more  dangerous  than  she  thinks," 
said  Teverino,  taking  Leonce's  gun  from  the  car- 
riage and  springing  upon  the  rock.  "  Perhaps 
the  little  creature  does  not  see  with  how  many 
enemies  she  has  to  deal." 

Madeleine,  as  if  to  show  her  courage,  raised 
herself  and  agitated  her  cloak — the  eagles  dis- 
persed, but  regarding  this  light  movement  as  con- 
vulsions of  agony,  they  remained  close  at  hand, 
filling  the  air  with  their  sinister  clamors  :  as  soon 
as  the  bird-tamer  resumed  her  position,  they  re- 
turned to  the  charge.  Several  times  she  lured 
them  to  her,  and  then  frightened  them  away  ; 
after  a  while,  she  uncovered  her  head,  extended 
her  arms,  and  rising,  stood  motionless.  At  this 
moment,  Teverino  raised  the  barrel  of  his  gun,  in 
order  to  quiet  these  sanguinary  beasts  of  passage, 
if  necessary.  Madeleine,  however,  made  a  sign 
for  him  to  fear  nothing :  during  several  minutes 
she  held  the  enemy  in  respect  by  the  fire  of  her 
eye,  then,  she  slowly  quitted  the  rock,  leaving  be- 
hind her  a  dead  bird,  enveloped  in  a  rag,  with 
which  she  had  silently  provided  herself  !  The 


198 


JEALOUSY. 


eagles  precipitated  themselves  upon  this  prey,  and 
disputed  its  possession  with  furious  cries. 

"  Look,"  said  Madeleine,  rejoining  the  specta- 
tors, "  how  angry  they  are  up  there  at  my  hand- 
kerchief, which  I  forgot  and  left  behind  me ! 
How  insolent  they  are,  now  that  I  am  no  longer 
with  them !  Well,  let  them  sing  to  their  victory  ! 
These  are  cowardly,  wicked  animals,  who  obey 
without  loving.  I  am  sure  that  my  poor  little 
birds  heard  them,  and  are  dying  with  fear.  If  I 
were  often  so  unfaithful  to  them,  I  have  no  doubt 
they  would  abandon  me." 

"  But  I  do  not  think  your  birds  have  followed 
you  hither  ?"  said  Leonce. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "  they  would  have  followed 
me,  if  I  had  willed  it,  but  I  knew  they  would  be 
in  the  way,  and  therefore  sent  them  to  sleep  in  a 
wood,  that  we  left  behind  us,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  torrent." 

"  And  where  will  you  find  them  to-morrow  ?" 

"  That  does  not  trouble  me,"  she  answered 
proudly.  "  It  is  for  them  to  find  me  wherever  I 
may  please  to  be.  They  see  at  a  distance  and  from 
high  places,  and  while  I  travel  one  league,  they 
can  fly  twenty." 

"  If  we  could  only  go  two  or  three  leagues  to 
find  a  shelter,"  remonstrated  the  Cure,  who  had 


JEALOUSY.  199 

taken  no  interest  whatever  in  the  scene  of  the 
eagles,  "  we  should  have  cause  to  thank  Provi- 
dence." 

"  Never  mind,  Abbe*,"  said  Teverino,  "  1  will  be 
responsible  for  a  good  supper,  a  good  fire  to  dry 
the  dampness  of  the  evening,  which  begins  to  pen- 
etrate, and  a  warm  bed,  whereupon  to  rest  your 
weary  limbs — that  is,  if  you  are  not  bent  on  return- 
ing to  sleep  at  Saint  Apollinaire ;  in  which  case, 
if  milady  condescends  to  grant  you  your  liberty, 
you  will  be  able  to  travel  there  on  foot,  and  arrive 
at  home  by  sunrise." 

"  Vastly  obliged  for  such  liberty,"  said  the  Cure. 
"  But  since  I  have  fallen  into  your  power,  it  is 
useless  for  me  to  try  to  extricate  myself ;  therefore, 
do  your  best  to  lodge  us  supportably  to-night,  and 
I  will  endeavor  to  forget  the  terror  of  my  poor 
Barbe,  and  the  astonishment  of  my  parishioners 
when  they  hear  no  summons  to  mass  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  To-morrow  is  not  Sunday,  and  your  absence 
is  involuntary,"  said  Teverino.  "  Come,  let  us  pro- 
ceed on  our  journey.    God  will  conduct  us." 

"  And  I  ?"  said  Sabina,  somewhat  alarmed,  to 
Leonce.  "  And  my  husband,  who  is  probably 
awake  by  this  time,  and  making  his  toilet,  prepa- 


200  JEALOUSY. 

ratory  to  breakfasting,  that  is  to  say,  supping  in 
my  apartment." 

"  Speak  lower,  madam,  lest  the  Cure'  overhear 
you.  He  is  the  only  person  in  the  party,  who 
would  be  scandalized  at  such  an  occurrence." 

"  What !  Are  we  going  to  pass  the  night  away 
from  home  ?  I  shall  be  the  table-talk  of  the  coun- 
try." 

"  No.  Quite  the  contrary,  be  assured.  The 
society  of  the  Cure'  makes  all  right,  and  nothing 
is  more  natural  than  to  lose  one's  way  among  the 
mountains,  to  be  overtaken  by  night,  and  prevented 
from  returning  home  until  the  next  day.  The 
Cure'  will  make  noise  enough  about  this  terrible 
adventure,  so  that  no  one  will  for  a  moment  ques- 
tion the  fact  of  his  being  with  us." 

"  But  if  your  marquis,  for  whom  you  do  not  an- 
swer, should  be  a  coxcomb,  he  will  blaze  abroad 
impertinences  in  regard  to  me." 

"  I  will  at  least  promise  to  make  him  keep  si- 
lence, should  he  be  so  inclined.  Now,  really,  Sa- 
bina,  are  you  going  to  plunge  again  into  sad  real- 
ities? Where  has  flown  that  enthusiasm  with 
which  the  burning  soil  of  Italy  just  now  inspired 
you  ?  Poetry  dies  at  the  remembrance  of  worldly 
conventionalities,  and  if  you  are  wanting  in  faith, 
my  power  will  abandon  me." 


JEALOUSY. 


201 


11  "Well,  then,  Leonce.    Come  what  may  /" 

"  The  air  freshens.  Permit  me  to  envelop  you 
in  my  cloak,"  said  Leonce.  "  Keep  a  corner  of  it 
for  this  little  one,  who  is  thinly  clad,"  seeking  at 
her  side  for  Madeleine. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  madam,  I  am  not  cold,"  said 
the  bird-tamer,  who  had  glided  unobserved  upon 
the  seat  with  Teverino. 

"  I  fear  that  the  Cure's  suspicions  are  but  too 
well  grounded,"  resumed  Sabina,  in  English,  "  and 
that  after  all,  she  is  a  dissolute  girl.  What  a  mad- 
cap your  Italian  is  I" 

"  Indeed,  and  what  matters  it  to  you?"  inquired 
Leonce. 

The  horses,  although  covered  with  sweat  and 
foam,  were  still  full  of  spirit  and  trembled  with 
eagerness.  Teverino  urged  them  to  the  descent, 
and  these  generous  animals  soon  accomplished  a 
perilous,  and  what  would  have  been  with  less  swift 
winged  coursers,  a  tedious  journey.  The  road  was 
in  many  parts  extremely  crooked  and  wound  along 
the  edge  of  frightful  chasms,  but,  fortunately,  the 
darkness  of  the  coming  evening  concealed  from 
the  Cure  a  view  of  his  position,  which  would  have 
given  him  the  vertigo.  As  for  Madeleine,  she  was 
thinking  of  something  else. 

"  Look,  Signora  I"  at  last  exclaimed  the  marquis, 


202 


JEALOUSY. 


pointing  with  his  finger  to  the  lights  penetrating 
the  gloom  beyond.  "  Behold  a  town — a  town  of 
Italy!" 


IX. 

ON  THE  VERGE  OF  AN  ABYSS. 

"  Prat  don't  tell  me  the  name  of  this  town," 
said  Sabina.  "  I  shall  learn  it  soon  enough.  Suffi- 
cient for  me  to  know  that  it  is  a  town  of  Italy ; 
my  imagination  already  runs  riot  among  its  mar- 
vellous wonders.  "  See,  dear  Cure,  does  it  not 
resemble  an  enchanted  palace?" 

"  In  truth,  madam,  I  see  only  some  lighted  can- 
dles." 

"  Oh !  you  are  no  poet.  What !  does  it  not  ap- 
pear to  you  that  these  lights  are  more  brilliant 
than  other  lights  ?  that  their  mysterious  radiance 
in  the  midst  of  this  profound  darkness,  promises 
us  some  unheard  of  surprise,  some  new  adventure  ?" 

"  We  have  had  enough  of  such  adventures  for  to- 
day," growled  the  Cure,  "and  I  ask  for  no  more." 

It  was  a  modest  little  frontier  town,  whose 
name  we  shall  not  repeat  to  our  readers,  for  fear 


JEALOUSY.  203 

it  may  no  longei  be  poetical  in  his  eyes,  if,  by 
chance,  he  should  have  happened  there  on  a  rainy 
day,  and  in  ill-humor.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Sabina 
was  struck  by  its  Italian  character.  Beautifully 
situated  in  an  amphitheatre  formed  by  the  moun- 
tains, and  sheltered  from  the  cold  winds  of  the 
north,  heated  by  the  rays  of  a  meridional  sun,  and 
watered  by  running  streams,  it  presented  all  the 
aspects  of  comfort,  neatness  and  luxuriant  vege- 
tation. 

The  rising  moon  shone  upon  white  walls,  vine- 
covered  slopes  and  terraces  decorated  with  marble 
vases,  from  which  the  aloe  launched  its  luxuriant 
leaves.  She  silvered  the  rounded  roofs  of  num- 
berless miniature  churches,  and  disclosed  whole 
avenues  of  shops,  filled  with  huge  vegetables, 
delicious  fruits,  and  lighted  with  colored  paper 
lanterns  that  shed  over  all  the  richest  and  most 
delicate  hues.  Rude  arcades  lined  the  edges  of 
the  streets,  thronged  with  joyous  crowds  of  the 
inhabitants,  a  jovial  race,  for  whom  every  sum- 
mer's day  was  a  festival,  and  who  now  greeted 
the  arrival  of  an  elegant  vehicle  with  shouts  of 
merriment  and  joy.  Troops  of  half  naked  child- 
ren and  inquisitive  girls,  in  whose  hair  natural 
flowers  were  thickly  twined,  followed  the  carriage, 
and  assisted  at  the  disembarkation  of  the  travelers 


204  JEALOUSY. 

before  the  Hotel  del  Lion  Bianco^  on  the  Place 
du  Marche  Neuf. 

The  inn  was  comfortable,  and  the  sight  of  an 
ample  piece  of  beef,  roasting  before  the  fire, 
caused  the  countenance  of  the  Cure  to  brighten. 
While  the  best  chambers  were  being  prepared 
for  these  unexpected  guests,  they,  themselves, 
attended  to  the  arrangement  of  the  table  in  a 
lower  room,  which  was  painted  in  fresco,  in  ac- 
cordance with  that  taste  for  ornament  and  delight- 
ful harmony  of  color,  so  generally  found,  even  in 
the  most  miserable  houses  of  northern  Italy.  The 
Cure*  did  not  forget  his  trout  and  mushrooms. 
They  had  remained  to  him  in  all  his  troubles,  as  a 
bit  of  consolation,  and  he  constantly  repeated  to 
himself  that  with  this  foundation  of  good  cheer 
and  feasting,  provided  a  fire  could  be  had,  there 
would  be  no  reason  to  despair.  Teverino  assumed 
the  apron  and  white  cap  of  the  scullion,  and, 
affecting  to  possess  some  wonderful  secrets  in  the 
culinary  art,  he  facetiously  set  himself  to  work 
with  the  abbe  in  the  kitchen.  Madeleine  assisted 
the  negress  to  arrange  the  sleeping  apartment, 

while  Lady  G  and  Le'once,  leaning  over  the 

balcony  adjoining  the  dining  room,  amused  them- 
selves in  observing  the  children  playing  and 
dancing  on  the  square. 


JEALOUSY.  205 

As  soon  as  the  candles  were  lighted  and  the 
table  spread  out  with  simple  but  excellent  food, 
the  guests  gathered  round  the  board.  Leonce  went 
in  search  of  the  bird-tamer,  in  order,  as  he  said, 
to  gratify  the  marquis ;  but  this  persistence  in  the 
blessings  of  equality  was  by  no  means  agreeable 
to  Sabina.  The  landlord  could  not  restrain  his 
astonishment. 

"  What !"  said  he,  as  he  served  out  the  soup, 
"  the  bird-tamer  in  the  society  of  your  illustrious 
highnesses !  I  am  very  well  acquainted  with  her, 
and  have  more  than  once  given  her  a  dinner 
gratis,  for  the  sake  of  the  pretty  tricks  she  can 
perform.  But  are  you  going  to  bring  all  your 
little  friends  with  you,  Madeleine  ?  I  give  you 
notice  that  if  you  expect  shelter  and  lodging  for 
them,  I  have  neither  plates  nor  pillows  enough  in 
my  house  for  so  many  guests.  Listen,  my  child  : 
you  must  go  and  eat  with  their  highnesses' 
domestics  in  the  kitchen.  Without  joking,  I  will 
really  find  you  a  nice  little  corner  in  the  hay-loft 
where  you  may  sleep." 

"  In  the  hay-loft,  with  the  grooms  and  mule 
teers,  doubtless  !"  said  the  Curd    "  If  that  is  the 
sort  of  life  you  follow,  Madeleine,  I  am  not  wrong 
in  saying  that  your  vagabondage  will  lead  you 
astray." 


206 


JEALOUSY. 


"  Bah !  bah !  she  is  a  little  child,  my  lord  abbe," 
answered  the  landlord,  "  and  no  one  pays  any 
attention  to  her." 

"Sir  landlord,"  said  Sabina,  "I  beg  you  will 
have  a  bed  placed  for  her  in  the  chamber  with 
my  negress ;  Madeleine  shall  sleep  there.  I  invited 
Madeleine  to  come  with  me,  in  order  that  I  might 
derive  amusement  from  her  peculiar  talents,  and 
I  will  be  answerable  for  her  safety." 

"  Since  your  highness  deigns  to  interest  your- 
self in  this  matter,"  replied  the  landlord,  "  all 
shall  be  done  as  you  command..  She  is  a  favorite 
with  every  one  here,  the  dear  little  creature !  She 
is  three  quarters  magician.  Shall  I  also  place  a 
cover  for  her  at  this  table?" 

"  By  all  means,"  replied  Lady  G  ,  curious 

to  observe  for  herself  the  progress  of  the  intimacy 
between  the  marquis  and  the  bird-tamer.  Her 
expectations  were,  however,  not  realized  :  they 
seemed  to  have  again  become  strangers  to  each 
other.  Madeleine  was  modestly  familiar  with 
Leonce,  and  respectfully  calm  in  her  bearing 
towards  Teverino.  The  latter,  who  performed  the 
honors  of  the  table  with  marvellous  ease,  treated 
her  with  a  sort  of  paternal  kindness,  which  strik- 
ingly displayed  the  benevolence  of  his  character, 
without  infringing  upon  the  conventionalities  of 


JEALOUSY. 


207 


society.  Sabina  began  to  think  she  was  deceived, 
and  even  the  Cure  found  nothing  to  reprove  in 
the  manners  of  the  handsome  marquis.  But  a 
new  cause  for  fear  seemed  to  spring  up  in  his 
mind,  as  he  witnessed  the  attentions  that  Leonce 
paid  to  the  foolish  child,  who  was  extremely 
merry  with  him,  and  charmed  him  by  her  innocent 
gayety.  But  the  appetite  of  the  growler  was  so 
tremendous,  and  the  delicious  viands  so  absorbing, 
that  he  lost  the  proper  moment  for  administering 
his  usual  clear-sighted  and  judicious  reproof.  Long 
before  he  had  finished  his  repast,  Madeleine,  with 
the  thoughtlessness  of  her  age,  had  fallen  asleep 
on  the  large  couch  which  decorates  the  travelers, 
hall  in  all  the  country  inns  of  Italy.  From  time 
to  time,  Ldonce  approached  the  couch,  and  admir- 
ingly contemplated  this  repose  of  innocence,  this 
graceful  posture  and  angelic  expression  which 
belongs  only  to  youth. 

They  were  at  dessert,  and  the  marquis,  exclu- 
sively occupied  with  Lady  G— — ,  conversed  on 
every  subject  with  superior  intelligence ;  at  least,  it 
was  a  sort  of  superiority,  most  highly  appreciated 
by  women ;  great  poetical  originality,  an  exalted 
sensibility,  and  more  imagination  than  science. 
The  charm  of  his  words  and  looks  again  resumed 
its  influence  over  Sabina.    The  Curd  played  the 


208 


JEALOUSY. 


part  of  contradictor,  as  if  he  had  it  at  heart  to 
bring  out  all  the  shining  eloquence  of  the  young 
man,  and  to  furnish  him  arms  against  the  dogma- 
tical coldness  and  narrow  prejudices  of  the  official 
world. 

Ldonce,  irritated  at  the  animation  and  evident 
delight  of  his  friend,  declined  all  part  in  the  con- 
versation, and  opening  his  album,  began  to  sketch 
the  figure  of  the  bird-tamer. 

Every  woman  of  the  world  is  born  jealous,  and 
Sabina  had  received  such  merited  adulation  for 
her  incomparable  beauty  and  brilliant  wit,  as  to 
cause  her  invariably  to  regard  the  attentions  ac- 
corded to  any  others  of  the  sex,  in  her  presence, 
as  a  sort  of  outrage  to  herself.  Skilful  in  dissi- 
mulation, her  internal  emotions  were  seldom  ex- 
pressed, except  in  the  form  of  pleasantry.  But 
they  created  in  her  bosom,  the  desire  for  immedi- 
ate vengeance,  and  the  vengeance  of  coquetry  in 
such  cases,  is  to  seek  homage  elsewhere,  and  to 
derive  from  it  a  pleasure  in  proportion  to  the 
affront.  She  therefore  abandoned  herself  entirely 
to  the  fascinations  of  Teverino,  and  forgetful  of 
the  shame  she  had  experienced  when  the  Marquis 
had  appeared  occupied  with  Madeleine,  she  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  of  making  Ldonce  a  wit- 
ness of  his  power  over  her. 


JEALOUSY.  209 

Ldonce,  who  perfectly  comprehended  this  cruel 
sport,  but  who,  nevertheless,  had  the  weakness  to 
allow  it  to  touch  his  feelings,  summoned  all  his 
strength  to  despise  it.  Unfortunately,  in  making 
use  of  the  same  weapons,  he  exposed  himself  to 
the  danger  of  being  vanquished.  He  affected  such 
great  admiration  for  his  model  and  such  enthusi- 
astic attention  to  his  work,  as  to  appear  deaf  and 
blind  to  everything  beside. 

"  Leonce,"  said  Sabina.  "  Tour  work  will  cer- 
tainly be  a  chef  cPoeuvre,  for  never  have  I  seen 
you  so  inspired." 

"  Never  have  I  beheld  anything  more  lovely 
than  this  sleeper  of  fourteen  years,"  he  replied. 
"  What  a  beautiful  age  !  what  softness  and  delicacy 
in  her  movements  !  What  serenity  in  her  placid 
features !  Admire  her,  you  who  are  artists  of  sen- 
timent as  well  as  of  intellect,  and  agree  with  me 
that  no  conventional  beauty,  no  woman  of  the 
world  could  ever  appear  so  sweet  or  pure  in  slum- 
ber." 

"  I  fully  agree  with  you,"  said  Sabina,  in  a 
charming  tone  of  disinterestedness,  "  and  I  doubt 
that  the  marquis  does  also." 

"  No.  God  forbid  that  I  should  unite  with  you 
in  such  blasphemy !"  responded  Teverino.  "  Beau- 
ty is  what  it  is,  and  when  we  lose  ourselves  in 
13 


210 


JEALOUSY. 


comparisons,  all  is  up  with,  the  critic ;  that  is  to 
say,  it  is  throwing  ice  upon  burning  impressions. 
This  is  the  malady  of  artists  in  our  age.  They 
dedicate  themselves  to  certain  types,  and  pretend 
to  assign  limits  to  beauty,  which  are  forged  in 
their  own  brains.  They  no  longer  discover  beauty 
by  instinct,  nor  is  it  ever  revealed  to  them,  except 
through  the  medium  of  their  arbitrary  theory.  The 
one,  seeks  in  beauty  something  stout  and  florid, 
like  the  ideal  of  Rubens ;  a  second,  would  have  it 
lean  and  lank,  like  the  phantoms  of  the  German 
ballads  ;  a  third,  distorted  and  masculine,  after  the 
manner  of  Albert  Durer ;  and  a  fourth,  makes  it 
cold  and  stiff,  in  the  style  of  the  primitive  masters. 
Nevertheless,  all  these  old  masters,  all  these  noble 
schools  followed  a  naive  and  generous  instinct: 
therefore,  their  works  are  original  and  please,  al- 
though they  bear  no  resemblance  to  each  other. 
The  true  artist  is  he,  who  has  a  consciousness  of 
life,  who  enjoys  everything,  who  obeys  his  inspi- 
rations without  reasoning  upon  them,  and  who 
loves  all  that  is  beautiful,  without  endeavoring  to 
classify  it.  What  signify  to  him  the  name,  the 
dress,  or  the  habits  of  the  beauty  whom  he  wor- 
ships. To  his  eyes,  the  divine  seal  may  appear 
stamped  on  an  abject  frame,  and  the  flower  of  rus- 
tic innocence  bloom  on  the  forehead  of' a  queen  of 


JEALOUSY.  211 

the  earth.    It  is  for  him,  Creator  that  he  is,  to 

make  of  her  who  charms  him,  a  shepherdess  or  an 
empress,  according  to  the  inclination  of  his  soul 
and  the  wants  of  his  heart.  You,  Leonce,  are 
artist  enough  to  transform  this  blond  mountaineer 
into  a  Saint  Elizabeth  of  Hungary  (Ed  io  anche  son 
jpittove)  and  I,  since  I  feel,  and  think,  and  love,  I 
can  see  Dante's  Beatrice  under  the  brown  tresses 
of  milady." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Le*once,"  said  Sabina,  flattered 
by  this  last  touch,  "that  the  marquis  coincides 
with  you  in  your  ideas  of  art,  and  that  you  only 
differ  in  the  expression  of  them.  But  what  is  that 
exquisite  drawing  just  fallen  from  your  album? 
Permit  me  to  examine  it  f 

"  Pardon  me,  madam.  I  warn  you  that  it  is  a 
study  from  a  nude  figure.  However,  if  you  wish 
to  see  it,  my  '  Fawn'  is  well  enough  clothed  with 
leaves  to  satisfy  the  scruples  of  M.  le  Cure*,  and 
prevent  the  necessity  of  his  taking  it  out  of  your 
hands ;  his  church  contains  many  saints  less  aus- 
tere." 

"  The  outline  is  superb,"  said  Sabina,  regarding 
the  sketch  Leonce  had  made  of  Teverino  on  the 
margin  of  the  lake.  Here  we  have  a  charming 
fantasy,  a  noble  attitude,  and  an  enchanting  land- 
scape." 


212  JEALOUSY. 

"  It  appears  to  me,"  said  the  Curd,  "  that  this 
countenance  and  that  of  the  marquis  are  as  much 
alike  as  two  drops  of  water.  If  the  dress  were 
similar,  it  might  very  well  pass  for  his  portrait ; 
but,  after  all,  it  is  not  the  coat  that  makes  the 
man,  and  the  likeness  is  perhaps  quite  accidental." 

"  That  beautiful  face  is  so  deeply  engraven  on 
my  memory,"  said  Leonce,  glancing  significantly 
at  his  marquis,  "  that  it  comes  naturally  to  the 
point  of  my  pencil  whenever  I  endeavor  to  realize 
perfection." 

"  And  this  scenery  is  of  our  country,"  added 
the  Cure.  "  I  recognize  our  little  lakes,  our  high 
mountains,  our  fir  trees  and  our  rocks.  It  is 
drawn  to  the  life.    Look  at  it,  M.  le  marquis." 

"The  position  is  good,  and  the  composition 
fine,"  tranquilly  observed  Teverino ;  "  but  the 
design  is  weak.  This  is  not  the  best  thing  our 
friend  can  do." 

"  Oh !  I  think  it  very  beautiful,"  said  Sabina, 
who  could  not  withdraw  her  eyes  from  the 
picture. 

"Indeed!  I  beg,  then,  you  will  allow  me  to 
present  it  to  you,"  said  Le'once,  ironically.  "  If 
you  do  not  consider  this  effort  unworthy  a  place 
in  your  album,  it  will  at  least  recall  to  mind  a 
happy  day  and  vivid  emotions." 


JEALOUSY. 


213 


"  I  prefer  the  drawing  you  have  just  finished," 

replied  Lady  G  ,  annoyed  at  the  tone  of 

Leonce.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  you  have  put  in 
that  more  of  imjpegno  e  d'amore" 

"  Ko,  no ;  I  shall  not  give  you  this,"  returned 
Leonce,  placing  the  sketch  of  Madeleine  in  his 
album,  and  thrusting  the  other  upon  the  table. 

"  "What  superb  weather,"  said  the  marquis, 
carelessly  approaching  the  window.  "  The  moon 
makes  it  light  as  day.  What  say  you  all  to  a 
walk  round  the  town  ?  To-morrow,  every  thing 
will  be  less  beautiful,  and  will  have  lost  its 
prestige." 

"  Come,  let  us  go,"  said  Sabina,  starting  up. 

"  As  for  me,"  said  the  Curd,  "  I  must  rather 
ask  permission  to  look  after  my  bed.  I  am  broken 
down  with  fatigue." 

"  What !  From  merely  riding  seven  or  eight 
leagues  in  a  good  and  comfortable  carriage  ?" 
exclaimed  Sabina. 

"  No ;  but  from  having  been  first  hot,  then 
hungry,  then  cold,  and  then  hungry  again;  in 
short,  from  not  having  taken  my  meals  at  the 
usual  hour.  Besides,  it  is  nine  o'clock,  and  I  see 
nothing  unnatural  in  my  wish  to  retire.  Heaven 
grant  that  my  poor  housekeeper  may  not  spend 
the  night  in  watching  for  my  return." 


214 


JEALOUSY. 


"Felicissima  noMe,  M.  l'Abbe,"  said  Teverino. 
"  Are  you  coming,  Leonce  ?" 

"  Not  yet,"  he  replied.  "  I  want  to  make  an- 
other sketch  of  this  little  sleeper." 

"  The  little  sleeper  must  sleep  elsewhere,"  said 
the  Cure,  sharply.  "  Is  she  going  to  lie  around 
on  the  sofas  all  night,  like  a  lost  sheep.  Come, 
sans  souci,  wake  up."  So  saying,  he  waved  his 
broad  brimmed  hat  over  Madeleine's  face ;  she 
made  a  motion  as  if  to  drive  away  an  importunate 
bird,  and  fell  asleep  again,  looking  more  beauti- 
ful than  ever. 

"  Let  her  alone,  Cure ;  you  are  pitiless,"  said 
Leonce,  preparing  to  seat  himself  on  the  sofa,  by 
the  side  of  Madeleine. 

"  This  child  ought  not  remain  here  thus  exposed 
to  the  observation  of  every  body  in  the  house," 
said  Sabina. 

"  Pardon  me,  dear  Le*once,"  cried  Teverino, 
joining  in  the  conversation.  "  We  must  obey  the 
wishes  of  Milady  and  M.  l'Abbe."  And,  lifting 
the  young  girl  in  his  arms  like  a  child,  he  carried 
her  into  an  adjoining  chamber,  where,  a  few 
minutes  previously,  he  had  observed  the  negress 
arranging  her  bed. 

"  Listen,  queen  of  Tartarus !  Your  noble  mis- 
tress, the  white  Phoebe,  confides  this  object  to 


JEALOUSY. 


215 


your  care,  with  the  strict  injunction  to  guard  it  as 
you  would  the  apple  of  your  eye."  He  deposited 
Madeleine  gently  on  the  bed,  and  said  in  a  low 
tone  to  the  n egress  as  he  left  the  room.  "  Lock 
your  door,  'tis  the  command  of  your  mistress." 

Le*once  affected  great  indifference  to  what  was 
passing  around  him,  and  slowly  followed  Sabina, 
who,  after  having  vainly  waited  for  him  to  offer 
her  his  arm,  accepted  that  of  the  marquis.  The 
latter  appeared  familiar  with  the  town,  although 
he  was  a  stranger  to  every  body  in  it,  even  to  the 
landlord  of  the  Hotel  del  Lion  Bianco.  He  con- 
ducted Sabina  to  take  an  ice  in  a  cafe,  which 
stood  in  the  vicinity  of  some  old  walls,  ruins  of 
ancient  fortifications,  bearing  the  trace  of  the 
bullets  of  republican  France.  They  partook  of 
their  refreshments  in  the  open  air,  on  a  platform 
that  overlooked  the  moat  and  a  confused  pile  of 
massive,  antique  constructions,  covered  with  moss 
and  ivy. 

At  a  short  distance  from  them,  rose  a  dilapi- 
dated tower,  whose  slender  outline,  rendered  almost 
dazzlingly  brilliant  by  the  silver  rays  of  the  moon, 
presented  a  strong  contrast  to  the  surrounding 
landscape,  veiled  in  a  cloudy  vapor. 

Le'once  wandered  off  by  himself  among  the 


216  JEALOUSY. 

ruins,  apparently  absorbed  in  admiration  of  the 
romantic  spot  and  heavenly  night. 

"  I  really  believe,"  said  Teverino,  trying  the 
strength  of  his  fingers  upon  a  piece  of  cement 
which  he  picked  up  from  under  his  feet,  "  that  this 
construction  is  of  Roman  origin." 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  know  any  thing  about  it," 
replied  Sabina.  "  I  find  it  far  more  pleasant  to 
take  every  thing  for  granted,  and  to  dream  over 
the  splendor  of  past  ages,  than  to  waste  time  in 
archeological  researches.  All  the  enjoyment  is 
lost,  in  striving  to  arrive  at  facts." 

"  Ah,  indeed !  Then  you  have  the  true  poetic 
instinct,  charming  Franqaise"  said  Teverino,  tak- 
ing a  seat  opposite  to  her,  "  and  I  will  gladly  lose 
myself  with  you  in  this  intellectual  paradise,  to 
which  the  divine  Alighieri  was  introduced  by  the 
divine  Beatrice.  When  this  comparison  has  now 
and  then  risen  to  my  lips,  I  have  not  taken  into 
account  the  justice  of  my  inspiration.  Yes.  you 
combine  the  light  of  intellect  with  a  perception 
of  ideal  beauty,  and  until  this  moment,  1  have 
never  met  so  extraordinary  a- woman  as  you.  I 
have  never  been  in  France  before,  and  the  French 
women  whom  I  have  met  in  Italy,  are  much  more 
like  our  women  than  you  are.  The  woman  of  the 
south  has  many  poetical  and  artistic  instincts,  but 


JEALOUSY.  217 

they  belong  rather  to  the  character  than  to  the  in- 
tellect. Moreover,  her  limited  education,  her  idle 
and  lascivious  life,  does  not  give  her  a  chance  to 
analyze  her  emotions,  as  you  so  well  know  how  to 
do,  madam.  Then,  how  clearly  you  express  your 
thoughts,  even  in  our  language,  to  which  you  give 
a  new  form,  always  noble  and  striking.  Your 
sentiments  are  born  of  ideas,  and  in  talking  with 
you,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  am  you,  in  a  region 
unknown  to  other  beings.  You  judge  everything ; 
nothing  is  strange  to  you,  and  your  learning  does 
not  hinder  you  from  experiencing  the  emotions 
and  passions  of  the  human  soul  as  fully  as  those 
poor  creatures,  who  love  and  admire  without  dis- 
crimination. Yet  your  imagination  is  rich  as 
though  you  were  not  possessed  of  all  the  secrets  of 
humanity,  and  the  ideal  continually  transports  you 
beyond  your  marvellous  wisdom  towards  the  infi- 
nite. In  truth,  my  brain  ignites  at  the  hearth- 
stone of  yours,  and  in  listening  to  you,  I  seem  to 
become  exalted  above  myself." 

It  was  by  a  deluge  of  eulogistic  phrases  like 
these,  that  Teverino  poured  the  poison  of  flattery 
into  the  soul  of  the  proud  lady.  What  a  marked 
difference  between  the  philosophical  system  of 
teazing  adopted  by  Leonce,  and  this  boundless  ad- 
miration, expressed  with  that  Italian  ardor  which 


218  JEALOUSY. 

closely  resembles  emotion.  And  what  lent  to  it 
an  irresistible  charm,  was  that  Teverino  himself, 
almost  believed  what  he  said.  He  had  never  be- 
fore come  in  contact  with  a  woman  so  extensively 
cultivated ;  to  a  character  like  his,  full  of  eager 
inquiry  and  incessant  observation,  such  a  novelty 
was  wonderfully  fascinating.  It  was  his  object  to 
put  this  feminine  superiority  at  ease,  in  order  to 
see  it  manifested  in  all  its  brilliancy,  and  therefore, 
comprehending  perfectly,  that  these  gifts  are  al- 
ways united  to  a  proud  spirit,  he  caressed  it  with 
ingenious  adulation.    It  was  very  difficult,  not  to 

say  impossible,  for  Lady  G  to  distinguish  this 

passion  of  knowledge  from  the  passion  of  loving. 
She  had  never  seen  a  man  so  blase,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  so  unaffected,  as  Teverino.  Leonce  had 
less  intellectual  curiosity  and  less  tranquillity  of 
soul  in  her  presence.  Thus,  she  saw  only  half 
of  the  character  of  this  Italian,  a  veritable  dille- 
tante  in  intellectual  enjoyment,  who,  without  en- 
dangering the  calmness  of  his  own  heart,  vigor- 
ously attacked  hers,  merely  to  observe  it  as  a  new 
type  of  his  experience. 

She  talked  a  long  time  with  him,  and  of  what, 
between  a  handsome  young  man  and  a  lovely 
young  woman,  if  not  of  love?  There  is  no  theory 
so  inexhaustible  in  a  moonlight  te'te-a-te'te  of  this 


JEALOUSY. 


219 


sort.  The  woman  complains  of  life,  weeps  over 
its  illusions,  traces  the  ideal  of  love  and  foresha- 
dows the  transports  that  she  veils  under  a  transpa- 
rent mystery  of  bashfulness  and  reserve.  The  man 
exalts  himself,  abjures  prejudice  and  condemns 
the  crimes  of  his  fellows.  In  his  own  person,  he 
would  become  the  champion  of  the  male  sex.  By 
a  thousand  adroit  insinuations,  he  offers  to  expiate 
and  repair  the  original  sin,  while  by  a  thousand 
subterfuges  yet  more  adroit,  the  woman  eludes  his 
homage,  and  stimulates  him  to  renewed  fervor. 
This  is  the  usual  summing  up  of  all  such  conver- 
sations between  civilized  beings.  It  is  the  sum- 
ming up  of  the  conversation  which  took  place  be- 
tween Sabina  and  Leonce,  only  the  morning  before, 
and  which  was  conducted  with  still  more  art  and 
dissimulation.  But  with  Teverino,  Sabina  had 
less  fear  and  more  gentleness.  In  place  of  re- 
proach and  angry  recrimination,  she  respired  only 
the  tranquil  odor  of  incense ;  but  she  also  incurred 
the  danger  of  giving  tenderness  to  him  who  de- 
manded only  imagination. 

As  the  voice  of  the  adventurer,  in  the  height  of 
his  dithyrambics,  echoed  'mid  the  stillness  of  the 
night,  Sabina  was  somewhat  startled  to  see  Le*once 
re-appear  at  the  base  of  the  rampart. 


220  JEALOUSY. 

"  Here  is  Le'once,"  said  she,  with  a  hope  of  re- 
pressing his  eloquence. 

"  Poor  Leonce  !  He  is  very  anxious  and  thought- 
ful this  evening,"  said  Teverino,  lowering  his  voice. 

"  I  have  never  seen  him  so  disagreeable,"  she 
replied.  "  I  am  almost  inclined  to  think  that  he 
is  tired  of  us." 

"  No,  madam.    He  is  in  love,  and  jealous." 

"  In  love  with  the  bird-tamer,  doubtless,"  said 
she,  disdainfully. 

"  No,  with  you.    You  know  it  perfectly  well." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  marquis.  We  have  known 
each  other  fifteen  years,  and  he  has  never  dreamed 
of  being  in  love  with  me." 

"  Well,  madam,  I  swear  to  you  that  he  thinks 
seriously  of  it  to-day." 

"  Cease  this  jesting.    It  is  painful  to  me." 

"  Is  he  not  a  gallant  man,  a  brave  artist,  and  a 
clever  fellow  %  His  love  is  yours  of  right,  and  you 
ought  not  to  be  offended  by  it." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  would  grieve  me  terribly, 
for  I  could  not  reciprocate  it." 

"  That  is  dreadful,  madam.  I  am  convinced, 
then,  that  there  is  no  chance  for  any  other  man, 
for  no  other  man  can  flatter  himself  that  he  is  the 
equal  of  Le'once." 

"  You  are  wrong,  marquis ;  he  has  all  sorts  of 


JEALOUSY.  221 

perfections,  with  which  I  would  cheerfully  dis- 
pense, did  he  not  lack  one  small  quality  that  I 
may  hope  to  find  alsewhere." 
"  What  is  that  ?" 

"  The  faculty  of  loving  ingenuously,  without 
pride  and  without  mistrust." 

Saying  these  words,  she  rose  from  her  seat  to 
go  and  meet  Leonce,  and  the  easy  confidence  with 
which  she  leaned  on  the  arm  of  Teverino,  induced 
the  latter  to  say  to  himself,  "  After  all,  it  is  not  so 
difficult  as  I  thought,  to  conquer  this  strong 
heart." 

Sabina  fancied  that  she  spoke  very  low,  but  she 
forgot  to  take  into  consideration  the  clearness  of 
the  surrounding  atmosphere,  and  consequent  fa- 
cility with  which  sound  was  here  transmitted, 
and,  of  course,  did  not  for  an  instant  suspect  that 
Leonce  had  heard  every  thing.  He  was,  in  truth, 
so  deeply  wounded  and  overcome  by  her  last 
words,  as  to  be  scarcely  able  to  conceal  his 
emotion  and  maintain  the  calmness  of  his  role. 
He  succeeded,  however,  so  wonderfully  as  to 
deceive  Teverino  himself;  and,  to  confirm  Lady 
G— —  in  her  belief  of  his  extreme  coldness.  He 
proposed  that  they  should  ascend  to  the  summit 
of  the  dismantled  tower,  promising  them  a  magni- 
ficent view  from  it,  and  an  atmosphere  yet  more 


222  JEALOUSY. 

pure  than  that  of  the  ramparts.  They,  therefore, 
made  the  attempt,  Leonce  leading  the  way,  to 
point  out  the  path  which  he  had  just  explored 
alone,  and  to  warn  them  of  the  decayed  or 
slippery  steps  in  the  worn  out  spiral  staircase. 

Notwithstanding  these  precautions,  the  ascent 
was  very  painful  and  even  dangerous  for  a  woman 
as  delicate  and  as  little  inured  to  vertigo  as  Lady 
G  ;  but  the  strength  and  address  of  the  mar- 
quis inspired  her  with  a  singular  confidence,  and 
what,  in  cooler  moments,  she  would  never  have 
dared  to  undertake,  she  accomplished  by  en- 
thusiasm ;  now  leaning  on  his  shoulder,  now  her 
hands  clasped  in  his,  and  now  carried  in  his 
vigorous  arms. 

During  the  progress  of  this  perilous  adventure, 
more  than  once  their  cheeks  grazed  each  other, 
more  than  once  their  breaths  mingled,  more  than 
once  Teverino  felt  beating  against  his  breast, 
panting  with  exertion,  a  heart  moved  with  shame 
and  tenderness.  The  moon,  penetrating  the  large, 
broken  arches  of  the  tower,  threw  a  vivid  light 
on  the  stairway,  interrupted  from  time  to  time  by 
the  massive  walls.  In  these  intervals  of  light  and 
darkness,  sometimes  they  were  very  near  to,  and 
then  again  quite  distant  from  Leonce,  who,  feign- 
ing to  pay  no  attention  to  his  companions,  lost, 


JEALOUSY.  223 

however,  not  one  shade  of  their  growing  emotion. 
At  last,  they  found  themselves  at  the  summit  of 
the  edifice.  A  circular  wall,  eight  feet  in  breadth, 
without  any  balustrade,  formed  its  crown.  Leonce 
tranquilly  walked  round  and  round  it,  measuring 
with  his  eyes  this  slippery  rampart,  whose  cy- 
clopeian  base  seemed  to  lose  itself  in  the  moat, 
more  than  a  hundred  feet  below.  But  Sabina 
was  seized  with  an  insurmountable  terror,  both 
for  herself  and  Teverino,  who,  standing  at  her 
side,  essayed  in  vain  to  re-assure  her.  She  sat 
down  upon  the  last  step,  and  could  not  breathe 
freely  until  the  marquis  was  also  seated  at  her 
side,  and  had  encircled  her  with  his  two  arms, 
forming  as  it  were  an  impregnable  barrier  between 
her  and  danger.  The  frightened  owls  flew  into 
the  air,  uttering  plaintive  cries  of  distress.  Leonce, 
under  pretext  of  seeking  out  their  nests  and 
carrying  their  young  to  the  bird-tamer,  to  see 
how  she  would  manage  their  education,  descended 
the  stairs,  and  went  rummaging  in  the  lower 
stories,  where  the  noise  of  his  steps  on  the  gravel 
soon  ceased  to  be  heard. 

Teverino  was  no  longer  master  of  himself,  as 
he  had  been  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before, 
while  taking  an  ice  with  Sabina,  in  an  isolation 
less  complete.    Moreover,  Le'once  appeared  so 


224  JEALOUSY. 

indifferent  to  the  possible  consequences  of  the 
adventure,  that  he  began  to  look  upon  it  as  a  less 
serious  case  of  conscience.  But  the  astonishing 
loyalty  of  this  singular  being  still  struggled 
against  the  attractions  of  beauty  and  the  pride  of 
making  such  a  conquest.  He  succeeded  in  dissi- 
pating Sabina's  terrors,  and,  to  divert  her  thoughts, 
he  proposed  that  she  should  listen  to  a  hymn  to 
the  night,  the  words  his  own  improvisation,  which 
he  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  sing  on  this  magni- 
ficent spot.  Sabina  had  already  heard  a  slight 
specimen  of  his  voice,  sufficient  to  make  her  wish 
for  another.  She,  therefore,  readily  consented,  at 
the  same  time  telling  him  that  as  long  as  she 
snould  see  him  standing  on  this  gigantic  pedestal, 
she  could  not  restrain  the  terrible  beating  of  her 
heart. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  he,  "  I  am  certain  of  being 
listened  to  with  emotion,  and  that  would  be 
enough  to  make  many  professional  singers  long 
for  such  a  theatre." 

The  facility  and  even  the  originality  of  his 
lyrical  improvisation,  the  happy  choice  of  the  air, 
the  incomparable  beauty  of  his  voice,  and  this 
natural  musical  gift,  in  which  taste,  power  and 
sweetness  supplied  the  place  of  method,  all  these 
acted  ujon  Sabina,  and  moved  her  to  the  very 


JEALOUSY.  225 

depths  of  her  soul.  Torrents  of  tears  escaped 
from  her  eyes,  and  when  Teverino  returned  to  his 
seat  beside  her,  he  found  her  so  excited  and  over- 
come, as  to  make  him  feel  that  he  himself  was 
also  vanquished.  Throwing  his  arms  around  her, 
he  asked  if  she  were  still  afraid.  She  fell  upon 
his  neck,  and,  with  a  voice  broken  by  sobs, 
responded :  "  !No,  no !  I  have  no  longer  fear  for 
you!" 

At  this  moment  their  lips  met ;  but,  at  the  same 
instant,  the  steps  of  Leonce,  resounding  under  the 
arch  of  the  staircase  and  approaching  them,  recalled 
them  abruptly  to  themselves.  Far  off  in  the  dis- 
tance, could  be  heard  clapping  of  hands  and  shouts 
of  applause  from  some  persons,  who,  walking  along 
the  borders  of  the  ramparts,  had  listened  to  this 
admirable  hymn,  still  hovering  in  the  air,  as  if 
'twere  the  voice  of  the  genius  of  the  ruios.  They 
cheered  enthusiastically  the  unknown  artist-dis- 
penser of  an  enjoyment  so  dear  to  Italian  ears,  but 
their  applause  caused  Sabina  to  tremble  yet  more 
than  the  approach  of  Le'once.  It  seemed  to  her 
like  an  ironical  flourish  of  trumpets  at  her  impend- 
ing defeat,  and  she  had  need  to  assure  herself  that 
her  presence  there  was  invisible  to  curious  eyes, 
even  at  a  distance,  before  she  could  recover  from 

the  sense  of  her  weakness. 
14 


226 


JEALOUSY. 


r 

X. 

LO  QUE  PUEDE  UN  SASTRE. 

Our  travelers  made  the  circuit  of  the  walls  sur- 
rounding the  town,  and  by  the  time  they  had 
again  arrived  at  the  Hotel  del  Leon  Bianco >,  which 
they  entered  by  a  small  door  overlooking  the  gar- 
dens, the  clock  sounded  the  hour  of  eleven.  A 
mob  of  citizens  and  laboring  men  was  gathered 
before  the  main  entrance  of  the  inn,  and  the  land- 
lord appeared  to  be  carrying  on  an  animated  dis- 
cussion with  them. 

"  What  am  I  to  do,  gentlemen?"  he  replied  to 
the  interrogatories  of  Ldonce  and  Teverino,  and 
pushing  to  the  door  in  the  face  of  the  eager  popu- 
lace. "  The  town's  people  insist  that  a  great  vocalist 
is  lodged  in  my  house ;  that  it  is,  at  least,  Signor 
Rubini,  who,  in  order  to  avoid  the  importunities 
of  our  dilletanti,  conceals  his  name  and  presence : 
they  say,  also,  that  I  am  the  accomplice  of  his  in- 
cognito. Some,  absolutely  demand  that  he  shall 
show  himself  on  the  balcony  to  receive  the  felici- 


JEALOUSY. 


227 


tations  of  the  public,  many  of  whom  heard  him 
sing  not  more  than  half  an  hour  since,  over  by  the 
ramparts ;  others  have  been  running  through  every 
street  of  the  town,  entering  into  every  house, 
screaming  at  the  top  of  their  voices  for  the  Signor 
Eubini.  The  fact  is,  I  am  puzzled  what  to  do.  I 
have  several  times  been  honored  with  the  presence 
of  Signor  Rubini  in  my  house ;  I  know  him  very 
well,  and  am  positive  that  he  is  not  here." 

This  incident,  together  with  his  wish  to  put  Sa- 
bina  to  the  test,  suggested  to  Teverino  the  idea  of 
a  practical  joke. 

"  Listen,"  said  he  to  the  landlord.  "  I  sing  tole- 
rably well,  and  I  am  the  person  who  was  just  now 
exercising  his  voice  on  the  side  of  the  high  tower. 
I  am  the  marquis  of  Montetiore.  Is  it  possible 
that  you  have  not  yet  recognized  me  ?" 

"  I  recognized  you  the  instant  you  alighted  from 
the  carriage,"  replied  the  landlord,  incapable  of 
avowing  that  he  did  not  remember  of  ever  having 
before  seen  the  face  of  Teverino.  "  If  I  did  not 
address  you  by  name,  it  was  because  I  feared  to 
betray  the  incognito  that  persons  of  quality  some- 
times take  a  fancy  to  preserve." 

"  That  is  right,"  answered  the  pretended  marquis. 
"  Persevere  in  your  laudable  discretion  until  I 
shall  have  left  the  town,  and,  in  recompense,  I 


228 


JEALOUSY. 


will  promise  never  to  pass  by  your  house,  without 
giving  you  a  call.  The  idea  has  just  entered  my 
head  to  play  off  an  innocent  joke  on  these  music- 
mad  inhabitants  of  your  noble  city.  It  is  my  wish, 
therefore,  that  you  cause  lights  to  be  placed  in  the 
gallery,  and  announce  to  the  people  that  the  artist 
whose  voice  they  have  heard,  is  about  to  accede 
to  the  entreaties  of  the  generous  public." 

"  What  are  you  about  to  do  ?"  demanded  Le*- 
once,  as  the  host  disappeared  to  execute  his  orders. 
"  Pass  yourself  off  as  Kubini  ?" 

"  He  can  !"  exclaimed  Sabina  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Signora,"  replied  the  adventurer,  pressing  the 
hand  of  Lady  G  to  his  lips,  in  token  of  grati- 
tude for  this  encomium,  "  I  have  no  such  preten- 
sion, but  I  wish  to  give  a  small  lesson  to  this  fool- 
ish multitude,  for  having  made  so  great  a  mistake ; 
besides,  it  is  my  fancy  to  terminate  the  pleasures 
of  the  day  by  a  comedy,  which  you  may  perhaps 
find  amusing.  All  our  chambers  open  upon  this 
gallery,  which  extends  round  the  house.  If  you 
remain  in  yours,  you  will  be  able  to  observe  every- 
thing that  is  going  on  through  the  crevices  of  the 
door.  And  you,  Leonce,  take  care  not  to  give  any 
evidence  of  recognition  ;  that  would  betray  me." 

Sabina  and  Ldonce  concealed  themselves  behind 
a  curtain,  and  when  everything  was  arranged  as 


JEALOUSY. 


229 


Teverino  had  directed,  a  miserable  figure,  with 
dishevelled  hair,  untrimmed  whiskers,  haggard 
eye,  languid  step,  and  clothed  in  wretched  gar- 
ments, much  too  small  for  him,  made  his  appear- 
ance in  the  illuminated  gallery.  Several  minutes 
elapsed  before  our  friends  could  penetrate  this 
ridiculous  disguise,  and  recognize  the  elegant 
"  Tiberino  de  Montefiore."  He  was  entirely 
changed,  and  everything  in  his  air  and  person, 
indicated  the  most  abject  wretchedness  and  squa- 
lid poverty.  The  vest  of  the  landlord's  youngest 
son  scarcely  spanned  his  waist ;  short  and  narrow 
pantaloons  gave  an  absurd  length  to  his  legs ;  his 
hands  hung  awkwardly  at  his  sides.  A  cap  that 
had  evidently  served  to  stuff  a  broken  window- 
pane,  a  wretched  guitar,  slung  cross-wise  over  his 
shoulder,  a  large  pilgrim's  staff,  all  combined  to 
give  him  the  aspect  of  a  miserable  strolling  player. 
Sabina  tried  to  laugh,  but  her  heart  swelled  within 
her,  without  her  comprehending  the  cause ;  and 
Le'once,  confounded  at  this  defiance  thus  thrown 
at  his  indiscretion,  in  vain  asked  himself,  what 
could  mean  this  daring  freak  of  his  accomplice? 

On  the  first  approach  of  this  sorry  personage, 
the  crowd  assembled  in  front  of  the  gallery,  greet- 
ed him  by  cheers  and  clapping  of  hands ;  but  all 
at  once,  their  cries  of  admiration  changed  to  groans 


230  JEALOUSY. 

and  hisses.  They  threatened  to  break  down  the 
doors  and  thrash  the  landlord,  in  order  to  teach 
him  better  than  to  thus  play  the  fool  with  his 
honorable  fellow-citizens. 

"  One  little  moment,  gracious  public,"  said 
Teverino,  stilling  the  clamor  by  mingled  gestures 
of  impertinence  and  humility.  "  Take  pity  on  a 
poor  artist  who  has  dared  to  profit  by  circumstan- 
ces and  exhibit  his  humble  talents.  If  he  does 
not  succeed  in  amusing  you,  he  will  deliver  him- 
self up  to  your  just  displeasure,  and  offer  his  back 
to  the  showers  of  silver  with  which  it  shall  please 
you  to  overwhelm  him." 

Every  public  is  capricious  and  variable.  Te- 
verino's  buffoonery  soon  softened  the  heart  of  his 
village  audience,  and,  in  default  of  the  great 
singer  whom  they  had  expected,  they  consented  to 
hear  the  miserable  mountebank.  He  demanded  a 
subject  of  improvisation,  and  delivered  several 
hundred  inflated  verses,  with  an  emphasis  truly 
burlesque,  after  which  he  gave  imitations  of  the 
cries  of  various  animals,  commencing  with  the 
cat.  He  whistled  variations  on  a  popular  street 
air,  and  mimicked  the  voice  of  the  JPulcinella, 
all  with  marvellous  facility,  at  the  same  time 
accompanying  himself  with  a  monotonous  and 
discordant  scraping  of  the  guitar.    When  he  had 


JEALOUSY. 


231 


finished,  a  shower  of  half-pence  resounded  on  the 
floor  of  the  gallery,  and  the  audience,  overwhelm- 
ing him  with  ironical  applause,  renewed  their 
clamor  for  the  famous  singer.  It  was  a  confused 
mixture  of  hisses,  laughter  and  stamps  of  im- 
patience. Some  wags  even  demanded  the  head 
of  the  landlord  of  the  Hotel  del  Leon  Bianco. 

"  "Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Teverino,  "  you  shall 
be  satisfied;  the  great  vocalist  promised  me  to 
permit  you  to  listen  to  him,  provided  I  could 
succeed  for  a  few  moments  in  diverting  your 
attention.  My  wager  is  won,  and  it  now  becomes 
my  duty  to  bear  to  him  the  expression  of  your 
ardent  homage." 

Whereupon  Teverino  re-entered  his  chamber, 
from  which  he  presently  came  out  again,  dressed 
like  a  gentleman,  in  a  neat  and  well  appointed 
toilet.  During  the  interval,  however,  he  had 
taken  the  precaution  to  have  some  of  the  candles 
adroitly  extinguished,  so  that  there  would  not  be 
sufficient  light  for  the  audience  to  recognize  his 
features.  He  commenced  with  a  prelude  on  the 
guitar,  which  gave  evidence  of  very  rare  talent ; 
this  was  followed  by  a  barcarole  so  delightfully 
sung  as  to  rouse  all  the  enthusiasm  of  the  crowd, 
who,  in  a  perfect  phrensy  of  excitement,  loudly 
called  for  an  encore.    He  consented  to  sing  it 


232 


JEALOUSY. 


again,  and  when  this  was  finished,  leaning  over 
the  balustrade,  he  regarded  with  an  air  of  aristo- 
cratic condescension  the  mad  assemblage  below. 
Their  cries  of  enthusiasm  instantly  gave  place  to  a 
profound  silence. 

"  Friends,"  said  he,  with  distinguished  elegance 
of  enunciation,  from  which  the  vulgar  bombast 
of  the  itinerant  had  wholly  disappeared.  "  I  have 
consented  to  sing  for  you,  although,  by  position,  I 
am  entirely  independent  of  the  caprices  of  a 
village  public,  as  well  as  of  all  other  publics.  The 
uproar  which  you  made  under  my  windows 
rendered  it  impossible  for  me  to  sleep,  so  that,  in 
a  measure,  I  have  been  forced  to  compromise 
with  you;  but,  in  punishment  for  your  having 
been  so  unreasonable,  I  will  sing  no  more,  and  if 
you  do  not  immediately  withdraw  to  your  houses, 
I  warn  you  that  you  will  be  inundated  by  fire- 
engines,  which  I  have  had  brought  to  the  hotel, 
and  which  will  be  put  in  operation  on  the  first 
symptom  of  rebellion." 

The  terrified  multitude  dispersed  instantaneous- 
ly, persuaded  that  they  had  provoked  the  wrath 
of  some  distinguished  personage,  and  they  could 
be  heard  clapping  their  hands  as  they  retired,  in 
humble  gratitude  for  having  escaped  so  easily. 

In  half  an  hour,  the  town  was  wrapped  in 


JEALOUSY.  233 

silence,  and  all  the  inmates  of  the  hotel  had  gone 
to  bed,  except  Sabina  and  Teverino,  who  leaning 
together  over  the  balustrade,  were  still  engaged 
in  conversation,  commenting  on  this"  last  ad- 
venture, and  laughing  cautiously,  for  fear  of 
awaking  their  traveling  companions. 

"  See  how  far  prejudice  goes,"  said  the  vaga- 
bond. "That  foolish  mob  had  not  the  faintest 
suspicion  that  they  applauded  and  hissed  the 
same  man." 

"  I  cannot  help  admitting  to  you,  marquis," 
replied  Sabina,  "  that  I  should  have  been  as  much 
deceived  as  they,  if  you  had  not  prepared  me 
beforehand." 

"  Indeed,  Signora?  I  am  happy,  then,  to  have 
procured  you  a  little  amusement." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  thank  you  for  the 
intention.  The  scene  was  fantastical,  ludicrous, 
perhaps;  nevertheless,  it  affected  me  unpleas- 
antly." 

"  We  are  there,  are  we  ?"  thought  Teverino, 
and  he  begged  Lady  G  to  explain  herself. 

"What!  you  do  not  comprehend?"  said  she, 
her  voice  full  of  emotion,  "  how  painful  it  is  to 
see  beauty  and  nobleness  so  travestied?" 

"  I  was,  then,  very  ugly  in  those  villanous 
rags?"  he  replied,  less  touched  by  the  compliment 


234 


JEALOUSY. 


than  Sabina  might  have  expected,  after  what  had 
passed  between  them. 

"  I  do  not  say  that,"  she  resumed,  less  tenderly. 
"  But  all  the  elegance  of  your  manners  and  bear- 
ing having  disappeared,  all  the  dignity  of  your 
character  having  given  place  to  an  indescribable 
shamefaced  impudence,  it  was  unpleasant  for  me 
to  see  you  thus  disguised,  and  I  could  not  realize 
that  it  was  you." 

"  It  was  I,  nevertheless.    It  was  I,  myself." 

"No,  marquis.  It  was  the  individual  whom 
you  chose  to  personate,  and  this  individual 
possessed  no  attribute  in  common  with  you." 

"  I  admit  that  the  manners  and  language  were 
assumed,  but  surely,  it  was  always  my  countenance, 
my  voice,  my  mind,  my  heart,  my  person  ;  in  one 
word,  my  being,  concealed  under  these  disguises. 
I  had  then  entirely  disappeared  to  your  eyes? 
That  is  strange." 

"  I  find  it  strange  that  you  should  be  astonished 
at  my  stupidity.  Manners  and  language  are  the 
expression  of  the  mind  and  character,  and  the 
moral  being  appears  transformed  when  the  exte- 
rior being  becomes  distorted." 

"  Clothes  also  go  for  much,"  said  Teverino,  with 
philosophical  irony. 

"  Clothes,  say  j  ou?    I  think  not." 


JEALOUSY.  235 

u  Indeed,  it  is  so.  Think  well  of  it,  Signora. 
Suppose,  now,  that  I  present  myself  before  you  in 
the  shabby  and  threadbare  wardrobe  of  our  land- 
lord's son  ;  suppose,  even,  that  I  am  this  son,  whose 
occupation  is,  I  think,  that  of  forester  or  excise- 
man ..." 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  Finish." 

"  I  suppose,  then,  that  preserving  my  counte- 
nance, heart,  and  mind,  such  as  God  has  made 
them,  I  appear  to  you,  for  the  first  time,  miserably 
clad,  and  actually  belonging  to  a  very  humble 
condition  of  life  ..." 

"  Your  supposition  is  not  founded  on  common 
sense.  The  stamp  of  nobility,  which  distinguishes 
you,  is  seldom  or  never  found  in  those  obscure 
races.' 

"  Seldom,  it  is  possible  ;  but,  after  all,  it  is  some- 
times found.  There  are  some  natural  gifts,  which 
God  has  dispensed  to  these  poor  devils,  as  if  to 
ridicule  the  pretensions  of  the  aristocracy." 

"  Your  ideas  are  just  those  of  Leonce,  I  will  not 
discuss  them ;  but  I  may  say  to  you,  in  answer, 
that  such  gifts  have  a  rapid  influence  on  the  exist- 
ence and  condition  of  their  possessor.  A  poor 
devil,  as  you  say,  when  he  feels  himself  endowed 
with  beauty  and  intellect,  sets  himself  actively  at 
work  to  modify  the  unpleasant  circumstances  into 


236 


JEALOUSY. 


which  the  caprice  of  fate  has  thrown  him.  He 
carves  out  for  himself  a  new  path  ;  he  continually 
aspires  to  the  elegances  of  life,  to  noble  occupa- 
tions, to  the  enjoyments  of  intellect,  to  the  privi- 
leges of  beauty,  and  soon  places  himself  in  the  rank 
for  which  he  was  apparently  created." 

"  It  is  very  true  that  he  ardently  aspires,"  re- 
plied Teverino,  "  and  also  very  true  that  he  some- 
times arrives  at  the  goal  of  his  aspirations ;  but  it 
is  yet  more  true,  that  he  is  generally  foiled,  because 
society  refuses  to  assist  him  ;  because  he  is  repulsed 
by  its  prejudices;  because,  in  fact,  not  having  in 
youth  learned  the  habit  of  submitting  to  its  re- 
straints, his  early  education  predisposes  him  to 
recklessness  of  its  opinion,  the  great  enemy  of 
struggle  and  slavery." 

"  But  this  contradicts  your  first  assertion. 
Clothes,  then,  go  for  nothing;  but  habits,  that  is  to 
say,  language,  manners." 

u  Clothes,  language,  and  manners,  all  make  a 
part  of  the  habits  of  life ;  they  are  the  expression. 
The  external  condition  of  the  poor  and  obscure 
man,  has  most  significance  to  vulgar  minds ;  but 
these  are,  so  to  speak,  exterior  habits ;  the  moral 
and  interior  being  has  not  less  value  in  the  eyes 
of  God." 

"  I  understand  nothing  of  such  distinctions,  mar- 


JEALOUSY. 


237 


quis.  In  your  mouth,  such  language  is  generous 
and  disinterested  reasoning,  but  in  the  mouth  of 
the  personage,  whom,  a  little  while  since,  you 
amused  us  by  representing,  it  would  be  vain  and 
insolent  pretension.  Your  philanthropy  misleads 
you;  the  moral  being  cannot  thus  detach  itself 
from  the  exterior  being.  There,  where  the  lan- 
guage is  ridiculous,  the  habits  gross,  disorder  ha- 
bitual, the  bearing  impertinent,  and  the  calling 
ignoble,  can  you  hope  to  discover  a  great  intellect 
and  a  noble  heart  ?" 

"  It  is  possible,  madam ;  I  persist  in  believing  it, 
in  spite  of  your  contempt  for  misery." 

"  Do  not  misrepresent  me.  It  is  a  misery  which 
I  both  pity  and  respect.  It  is  that  of  the  infirm, 
the  ignorant,  the  weak,  of  all  those  beings  whom 
the  misfortunes  of  life  throw  half-dead,  either  phy- 
sically or  morally,  into  the  combat  of  life.  En- 
feebled in  body  and  mind  before  they  are  able  to 
develop  themselves,  these  unfortunates  are  truly 
the  victims  of  chance,  and  we  owe  it  to  ourselves 
to  pity  and  respect  them.  But  he  who  has  the 
power  to  struggle,  and  will  not,  is  culpable ;  justly 
does  society  abandon  him." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  Teverino,  with  a  mixture  of 
haughtiness  and  good  nature.  "None  but  God 
can  read  his  heart  and  know  whether  he  does  not 


238 


JEALOUSY. 


find  within  his  own  breast,  consolations  which  are 
ignored  by  the  world,  and  whether  between  the 
Supreme  Being  and  his  soul,  there  is  not  estab- 
lished an  intercourse  far  purer  and  sweeter  than 
all  human  sympathy  or  social  protection.  I  be- 
lieve that  the  gifts  of  God  are  always  bestowed 
for  some  good  purpose,  and  that  those  who  are 
lowest  on  earth,  will  not  be  lowest  in  his  kingdom. 
Some  one  formerly  said  to  me  .  .  .  But  I  per- 
ceive that  I  am  beginning  to  preach,  which  is  to 
encroach  on  the  rights  of  our  good  Cure.  I  ought 
to  content  myself  with  showing  you  that  I  can 
play  at  comedy.  I  have  been  often  told  that  I 
was  born  a  comedian ;  nevertheless,  I  have  an  ho- 
nest heart,  that  has  always  impelled  me  contrary 
to  the  dictates  of  prudence." 

"  Indeed,  you  are  a  wonderful  mimic,"  said  Sa- 
bina,  "  and  you  have  conducted  this  Italian  farce 
like  a  gay  young  student  in  his  holidays.  I  admire 
the  vivacity  and  youthfulness  of  your  character, 
but  I  must  confess  it  rather  frightens  me." 

"  You  think  me  frivolous?" 

"  No ;  but  inconstant  and  indifferent,  perhaps." 

"  Then,  you  do  not  regard  me  as  perfidious  and 
insincere,  notwithstanding  the  facility  with  which 
I  can  metamorphose  myself?" 

"  No,  certainly  not." 


JEALOUSY.  239 

"  Well,  I  prefer  your  opinion  as  it  is,  than  that 
you  should  take  me  for  a  hypocrite." 

"  You  are,  then,  indifferent  as  to  whether  you 
inspire  any  other  sort  of  mistrust  V 

"  I  am  indifferent,  because  I  can  easily  over- 
come this  mistrust.  But  as  no  one  will  put  me  to 
the  proof,  I  have  no  occasion  to  exculpate  myself, 
is  it  not  so,  beautiful  Sabina?  I  should  be  a 
great  coxcomb  if  I  endeavored  to  make  myself 
appreciated." 

"  Do  you  not  wish  for  esteem  and  friendship  ?" 

"  Esteem  and  friendship  !  French  words  that 
we  Italians  do  not  comprehend,  when  applied  to 
the  relation  existing  between  a  handsome  woman 
and  a  young  man.  Less  subtle  and  more  passion- 
ate than  you,  we  go  direct  to  the  fact  of  the  true 
sentiment  we  experience.  I  own  to  you  that  I  do 
not  envy  your  esteem  and  friendship  for  Le*once, 
and  that  I  would  vastly  prefer  your  hatred  and 
disdain." 

"  Explain  yourself." 

"  How  and  why  do  you  not  love  Le*once,  that 
excellent  and  clever  fellow,  who  adores  you  V 

"  He  is  not  the  least  in  love  with  me,  and  that 
is  the  secret  of  my  indifference  to  him.  Now, 
would  you  have  me  disdain  and  hate  a  man  as 
accomplished  as  he,  because  he  does  not  happen 


240 


JEALOUSY. 


to  be  in  love  with  me  ?  Is  it  not  my  duty  to  put 
aside  my  vanity  as  a  woman,  and  render  justice 
to  his  noble  character  and  great  mind,  by  dedicat- 
ing to  him  an  affection  more  tranquil,  more 
durable  than  love  V 

"  Judging  from  the  manner  in  which  you  speak 
of  love,  Signora,  one  might  say  you  have  never 
felt  it.  An  Italian  woman  would  not  have  so 
much  delicacy  and  generosity ;  she  would  simply 
despise  it  all,  and  regard  as  her  greatest  enemy 
the  man  capable  of  living  with  her  in  this  species 
of  gross  and  offensive  intimacy  that  you  name 
friendship.  Ah !  Signora !  of  whatever  race  she 
may  be,  a  woman  is  always  a  woman  before  every 
thing  else.  The  instinct  of  truth  is  more  powerful 
with  her  than  good  taste  or  conventionalities. 
Your  friendship,  or  rather  your  disdain  for  my 
noble  friend,  reposes  only  on  an  error.  You  do 
not  perceive  his  love,  and  you  punish  his  silence 
by  according  to  him  your  esteem.  If  you  read 
his  heart,  you  would  respond  to  his  feelings." 

"  Marquis,  I  consider  it  very  strange  that  you 
should  charge  yourself  with  the  declarations  of 
Leonce." 

"  I  swear  to  you  upon  my  honor,  Signora,  that 
I  am  not  charged  by  him  with  declarations,  and 
that  he  distrusts  me  as  much  as  you  do." 


JEALOUSY.  241 

"  Thus  you  make  love  to  me  for  him,  on  your 
own  responsibility,  and  charge  yourself  gratuitous- 
ly, with  his  cause.  It  is  very  noble  and  generous 
in  you,  marquis,  and  recalls  to  my  mind  the 
fraternity  of  ancient  chivalry.  Certainly,  nothing 
can  be  more  worthy  of  esteem,  and  from  this 
moment,  you  have  acquired  a  just  title  to  my 
friendship." 

Uttering  these  words  with  an  accent  of  bitter- 
ness, Sabina  arose,  bade  the  marquis  good  night, 
and  retired  to  her  chamber.  We  have  already 
said  that  the  rooms  of  our  party  were  all  situated 
on  the  gallery,  which  formed  the  roof  to  a  large 
pent  house,  after  the  fashion  of  Alpine  construc- 
tions, and  ran  along  the  front  of  the  hotel,  facing 
the  square.  Leonce  and  Teverino  occupied  the 
same  chamber,  and  when  the  latter  entered,  he 
found  his  friend  still  up  and  dressed,  walking 
about  the  room  in  great  agitation. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Leonce,  advancing  to  meet 
him  with  extended  hand,  "  your  sentiments  are 
noble,  and  you  are  worthy  of  an  exalted  destiny. 
I  grossly  insulted  you  at  the  passage  of  the  torrent; 
will  you  forget  it  ?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Ldonce,  if  you  will  admit 

that  jealousy,  or,  in  other  words,  love  was  the 

cause  of  your  involuntary  passion  ?" 
15 


242  JEALOUSY. 

"  Otherwise  you  will  not  forget  it?" 

"  Otherwise  I  shall  persist  in  demanding  an 
explanation.  The  more  abject  my  condition  ap- 
pears to  you,  the  more  am  I  entitled  to  your 
consideration,  particularly  as  you  invited  me  to 
join  your  company ;  and  if  the  difference  in  our 
fortunes  makes  you  hesitate  to  give  me  satisfac- 
tion, I  would  add,  by  way  of  a  stimulant,  that  I 
have  no  superior  in  the  skill  with  which  I  handle 
every  kind  of  weapon,  and  that  this  is  not  my 
first  duel  with  a  man  of  quality." 

"  I  have  no  cowardly  prejudice  on  this  point. 
I  belong  to  the  age  in  which  we  live,  and  I  know 
that  one  man  is  worth  as  much  as  another.  Nei- 
ther am  I  unskilful  in  the  use  of  arms,  and  I 
might  find  pleasure  in  measuring  swords  with 
you,  were  my  cause  a  good  one ;  but  I  feel  it  to  be 
bad,  and  I  suffer  all  the  more  for  having  insulted 
you,  now  that  I  behold  in  you  the  pride  of  an 
honest  man," 

"  Your  excuses  are  also  those  of  an  honest 
man,"  said  Teverino,  pressing  his  hand  with  noble 
dignity.  "  But,  to  put  my  susceptibility  at  rest, 
you  ought  to  admit  that  love  and  jealousy  are 
alone  to  blame." 

"  You  wish  for  my  confidence,  Teverino  ?  Well, 
you  shall  have  it.    Jealousy?  yes.    Love?  no." 


JEALOUSY.  243 
u  Ah  !  more  French  subtleties.    A  woman  does 
or  does  not  please  us.    Where  there  is  no  love, 
there  can  be  no  jealousy." 

"  That  is  the  language  of  naivete  and  upright- 
ness ;  but  admitting  (I  have  no  objection)  that  the 
civilization  of  French  manners  and  the  refinement 
of  our  ideas  produce  this  strange  contradiction, 
can  you  comprehend  only  that  which  your  own 
heart  can  experience  ?  You  who  have  seen  so 
much  of  life,  who  have  studied  so  many  divers- 
ities of  human  nature,  do  you  not  know  that  self- 
love,  as  well  as  the  veritable  passion,  is  a  cause  of 
ill-humor  and  jealousy  ?" 

Teverino  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  his  bed, 
maintained  a  thoughtful  silence  for  several  min- 
utes, then  rising,  resumed :  "  Yes ;  these  are  the 
maladies  of  the  soul  produced  by  satiety.  Those 
who  desire  not  to  know  them,  must  be  like  me, 
visited  by  misery,  that  is  to  say,  by  the  frequent 
impossibility  of  satisfying  all  their  wants.  Dear 
Poverty !  thou  art  a  good  instructress  of  hearts. 
When  the  abuse  of  enjoyments  threatens  to  cor- 
rupt us,  thou  bringest  us  back  to  the  primitive 
simplicity  of  sentiments  and  ideas.  Thou  givest 
us  so  many  simple  lessons,  as  to  compel  us  to  re- 
main simple  under  thy  austere  law." 


244  JEALOUSY. 

"  What  relation  then  do  you  establish  between 
your  misery  and  the  uprightness  of  your  heart?" 

"  Misery,  sir,  is  one  form  of  philosophy.  It  is 
stoicism,  and  the  stoic  soul  is  made  entirely  of  one 
piece.  Should  my  mistress  be  taken  away  from 
me  by  a  powerful  man  (the  power  of  this  age  is 
riches)  I  bow  my  head,  but  my  pride  is  untouched. 
That  heart,  for  which  my  heart  was  not  sufficient, 
seems  to  me  unworthy  of  regret  or  anger.  Were 
I  able  to  sustain  the  struggle  and  give  to  my  un- 
faithful love  the  enjoyments  of  life,  I  might,  in 
that  case,  experience  jealousy  and  be  indignant  at 
my  defeat.  But  where  my  rival  prevails  in  con- 
sequence of  attractions  which  fortune  denies  to 
me,  I  can  only  blame  my  destiny.  I  no  longer 
regard  its  instruments  as  culpable." 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  your  philosophy.  But 
this  cannot  apply  to  the  feeling  of  jealousy  with 
which  you  have  inspired  me.  You  have  nothing, 
and  yet  you  are  preferred  to  me  who  am  rich. 
Thus,  I  have  reason  for  being  doubly  humiliated." 

"  Yes ;  to  be  furious  if  you  are  in  love.  Other- 
wise, your  feeling  is  only  a  delirium  of  vanity,  and 
I  cannot  comprehend  how  a  man  whose  intellect 
is  as  clear  as  yours,  can  allow  himself  to  be  affect- 
ed by  such  a  trifle.  If  you  were  in  the  habit  of 
being  every  moment  supplanted  by  the  fatal  law 


JEALOUSY.  245 

of  destiny,  you  would  become  inured  to  these  little 
reverses.  You  ought  to  know  that  woman  is  the 
most  impressible  being  in  creation,  and  conse- 
quently the  one  to  give  us  the  greatest  pleasure, 
the  fewest  rights,  the  most  intoxication,  the  least 
security." 

"  That  is  a  vagabond's  philosophy,"  said  Leonce, 
"  and  I  am  incapable  of  loving  thus.  You  are  all 
tenderness  and  tolerance,  Teverino,  but  you  do  not 
carry  into  love  matters  the  instinct  of  dignity  which 
you  assert  on  the  score  of  honor." 

"  I  do  not  place  honor  where  it  is  not,  and  I  seek 
in  love,  only  love." 

"  Thus  you  are  often  loved,  but  you  never  love ; 
you  know  only  pleasure." 

u  Nevertheless,  I  often  sacrifice  pleasure  to  ideas 
of  honor.  Be  not  in  haste  to  judge  me,  Leonce. 
You  cannot  tell  what  is  at  this  moment  passing  in 
my  breast." 

"  I  do  know !"  cried  Leonce,  with  the  fury  of  a 
madman.  "You  struggle  with  desires  that  you 
might,  even  this  instant,  satisfy.  It  is  but  a  step 
from  this  chamber  to  that  of  a  certain  noble  lady, 
proud  and  weak,  like  all  the  rest  of  her  race,  and 
I  am  perfectly  well  aware  that  you  have  only  to 
sing  a  romance  under  her  window,  or  turn  her  a 
compliment  of  irresistible  flattery,  in  order  to  ani- 


246 


JEALOUSY. 


mate  this  pretended  statue  of  Carrara  marble,  and 
embrace  those  disdainful  lips  ..." 

"  Stop  there,  Le*once.  I  have  no  such  confidence ; 
do  not  attribute  to  me  this  power." 

"Is  this"' dissimulation,  modesty,  or  loyalty? 
Throw  aside  all  scruple.  I  have  seen  everything, 
heard  everything.  I  know  that  you  were  at  first 
curious,  then  tempted,  but  finally  conqueror  over 
yourself  out  of  generosity  for  me.  I  am  grateful 
to  you ;  but  the  esteem  with  which  you  inspire  me 
augments  the  contempt  I  have  conceived  for  this 
woman,  and  I  am  willing  that  she  should  bear  the 
pain  of  her  hypocritical  coldness.  I  wish  you  to 
deliver  yourself  up  to  the  passion  of  your  youth, 
and  to  grant  her  those  pleasures  which  her  moist- 
ened eye  continually  solicits.  Go,  child  of  fortune 
and  sovereign  of  the  occasion,  the  hour  is  propi- 
tious. You  have  already  plucked  the  first  kiss, 
the  kiss  of  love,  after  which,  a  woman  can  refuse 
nothing.  You  will  render  me  a  great  service,  you 
will  deliver  me  from  a  mortal  agony,  a  fatal  at- 
traction, too  long  combatted  in  vain.  I  exact  from 
you  nothing  but  discretion  ;  besides,  your  life  shall 
answer  to  me  for  your  silence.  Be  happy  this 
night — to-morrow  you  shall  die — if  you  speak !" 

"  A  duel  unto  death  would  be  a  celestial  stimu- 
lant, if  I  were  truly  tempted,"  replied  Teverino, 


JEALOUSY.  247 

calmly.  "  But  I  am  not,  because  I  see  that  you 
are  irretrievably  in  love,  poor  Leonce.  Your  fury 
and  injustice  reveal  your  whole  heart,  in  spite  of 
yourself.  Come,  be  composed ;  this  beautiful  crea- 
ture is  neither  false  nor  guilty.  She  is  only  dis- 
trustful and  irresolute,  and  if  she  has  not  yet  loved 
you,  Le'once,  it  is  your  own  fault." 

"  No,  no  ;  it  is  hers.  Can  she  be  ignorant  that 
I  am  deeply  in  love  with  her,  and  that  my  respect- 
ful friendship  is  only  a  timid  game  V 

"  At  last,  you  admit  it." 

"  I  do  admit  that  I  have  been  a  long  time  in 
love  with  her,  and  that  this  morning  even,  I  was 
near  declaring  myself.  Well !  and  have  I  not  been 
so  a  hundred  times  since  this  morning,  madman 
that  I  am  !  My  fits  of  passion,  my  bitter  raillery, 
my  sadness,  uneasiness,  jealous  cares,  my  efforts  to 
appear  in  love  with  Madeleine,  are  not  these  so 
many  avowals,  rather  too  simple  for  a  man  of  the 
world?" 

"  Leonce !  Leonce !  you  have  been  understood." 

"  Yes,  and  that  makes  it  still  more  odious  in 
her,  still  more  humiliating  for  me.  She  feigned 
to  observe  nothing.  She  persisted  in  her  superb 
indifference;  she  sought  every  means  in  her 
power  to  dishearten  me  ;  and,  when  she  saw  that 
I  really  suffered,  she  shamelessly  threw  herself 


248  JEALOUSY. 

into  the  arms  of  a  man  utterly  unknown  to 
her." 

"Hush,  blasphemer!  You  scandalize  me," 
cried  Teverino.  "Your  passion  renders  you  blind 
and  indecent.  What!  do  you  not  see  that  this 
woman  loves  you,  and  is  it  for  me  to  teach  you 
the  tenderness  of  your  heart  ?  Do  you  not  see 
that  it  is  from  spite  that  she  listens  to  me,  and 
that  her  soul,  agitated  by  passion,  seeks  refuge  in 
the  intoxication  of  some  fatal  catastrophe  ?  Yon 
choose  to  win  her  by  a  thorny  road,  and  the 
pleasures  you  prepare  for  her  are  mingled  with 
gall ;  you  irritate  her  by  tempestuous  desires,  and 
then  fling  yourself  out  from  her  presence,  haugh- 
ty, supercilious,  sarcastic,  offended  that  she  does 
not  make  you  advances,  contrary  to  the  modesty 
of  the  sex !  You  wish  her  to  avow  her  passion, 
to  reassure  you  against  all  hazard,  to  promise  yon 
days  whose  web  shall  be  spun  in  silk  and  gold, 
to  excuse  and  justify  herself  for  having  been  so 
long  insensible  to  your  fascinations,  to  demand 
pardon  for  her  tardy  submission;  in  fine,  in  ex- 
change for  the  bitter  beverage  of  truth  you  pre- 
sent to  her,  to  pour  out  floods  of  ambrosia  and 
loving  adulation.  You  are  absurd,  Leonce,  you 
do  not  comprehend  the  spirit  of  such  &  woman. 
You  think  yourself  degraded  in  prostrating  vour- 


JEALOUSY.  249 

self  in  the  dust  under  her  feet,  and  in  confessing 
yourself  unworthy  of  her  tenderness ;  but  can 
you  not  see  that  these  are  precisely  the  expression 
of  a  true  love,  the  naive  gratitude  of  an  exalted 
happiness  ?" 

"  Italian  !  Italian  !  river  overflowing  and  rolling 
at  hazard,  you  only  wait  for  enthusiasm  to  pene- 
trate your  soul,  to  find  its  expression,  and  your 
transports  outstrip  the  happiness  that  gives  them 
birth !  Familiar  with  all  the  ruses  of  seduction, 
you  yet  speak  of  naivete  /" 

"  Yes,  I  am  naive  in  working  for  victory. 
Desire  and  hope  render  me  eloquent,  and  uncer- 
tainty does  not  prevent  me  from  being  venture- 
some. What,  then,  is  there  humiliating  in  a 
checkmate  of  this  sort  ?" 

"  And  can  you  not  imagine  ?  A  refusal  from 
a  woman  is  worse  than  a  blow  from  a  man." 

"  Foolish  prejudice !" 

"  No  !  The  woman  who  refuses  considers  her- 
self insulted  by  the  declaration." 

"  False  virtue  !  With  what  intricacy  and  cun- 
ning all  such  matters  are  managed  in  your  country. 
Huzza  for  fervid  Italy !" 

"  Nevertheless,  you  despised  your  ancient  idols, 
when  on  the  ramparts,  an  hour  since,  you  said : 


250 


JEALOUSY. 


*  Our  women  love  without  discrimination,  but 
your  sentiments  are  born  of  ideas.'  " 

"  I  believed  myself  on  the  road  to  discover  per- 
fection ;  but  I  perceive  with  chagrin  that  the 
intellect  stifles  the  heart ;  therefore,  repentant  and 
contrite,  I  return  to  my  remembrances." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  in  the  main !"  said 
Leonce,  rousing  himself  from  a  profound  revery. 
"  This  absence  of  delicacy  comes  from  the  very 
richness  of  your  organization,  and  I  am  not  as- 
tonished that  Lady  G  ,  after  having  so  long 

breathed  an  atmosphere  of  freezing  subtilties, 
should  have  been  attracted  by  the  overflowing 
enthusiasm  of  a  genial  soul.  We  understand, 
perhaps,  nothing  of  love,  and  I  acknowledge  on 
my  part  that  I  deserve  what  has  happened.  It  is 
too  late,  however,  to  profit  by  it ;  the  charm  is 
destroyed,  and  you  have  spoiled  every  thing, 
Teverino,  in  thinking  to  serve  and  enlighten  me." 

"  Say  not  so,  Leonce.  You  know  nothing 
about  it.  Sleep  brings  counsel,  and  to-morrow 
you  will  be  calm.  To-morrow,  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  a  grand  revolution  will  have  taken 
place  among  us  all.  Wait  until  then  to  judge  for 
yourself." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Nothing ;  I  am  going  to  sleep,"  said  Teverino, 


JEALOUSY.  251 

extinguishing  the  light.  "  I  commission  yon  to 
awake  me  in  the  morning,  for  I  delight  in  the  bed 
as  much  as  a  cardinal." 

In  a  few  moments,  he  seemed  to  be  in  a  pro- 
found slumber,  and  Leonce,  reduced  to  the  ex- 
tremity of  disputing  with  himself,  endeavored  in 
vain  to  imitate  him.  His  mind  was  over-excited, 
and  the  bed,  one  of  those  pallets  usually  found  in 
country  inns,  was  as  uncomfortable  and  disagree- 
able to  him  as  that  of  Teverino  seemed  delightful ; 
so  that,  notwithstanding  all  his  efforts  to  the 
contrary,  he  remained  awake  and  keenly  attentive 
to  external  noises.  A  vague  uneasiness  devoured 
him.  He  expected  every  moment  to  see  Sabina's 
shadow  fall  on  the  curtain  of  his  moonlit  window, 
as  she  passed  along  the  gallery,  seeking  an  op- 
portunity of  reconciliation  with  Teverino. 

At  last,  he  was  just  beginning  to  feel  drowsy, 
when  the  noise  of  stealthy  steps,  creaking  lightly 
on  the  gallery  floor,  and  then  dying  away, 
roused  every  nerve  in  his  body.  Leonce  remained 
motionless,  his  ears  open,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Te- 
verino, whose  bed  stood  facing  his  own.  Present- 
ly, he  distinctly  saw  the  vagabond  get  out  of  bed, 
half  open  the  door,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that 
some  person  had  passed  by,  and  then  approach 
the  bed  of  Le'once,  to  ascertain  if  he  were  asleep. 


252  JEALOUSY. 

Leonce  feigned  to  be  in  a  deep  slumber,  and  not 
to  notice  the  hand  that  Teverino  waved  before  his 
eyes  ;  whereupon  the  latter  dressed  himself  noise- 
lessly, and  left  the  chamber. 

"  Miserable  wretch !  you  have  deceived  me," 
thought  Le'once.  "No  matter!  I  will  discover 
your  artifice  in  spite  of  you,  and  cover  this  un- 
chaste woman  with  shame."  He  again  rose  out 
of  bed,  put  on  his  clothes  quickly,  and  followed 
the  steps  of  the  imprudent  marquis.  The  moon 
was  setting,  and  the  town  was  wrapt  in  silence. 


JEALOUSY. 


253 


XL 

VADE  RETRO,  SAT  AN  AS. 

Leonce  had  been  careful  to  note  down  in  his 
memory  the  number  marked  over  the  door  of  Sa- 
bina's  chamber ;  but  he  was  in  too  great  trouble 
to  pay  any  attention  to  it,  and  stopped  before  the 
first  open  door  that  presented  itself  before  him. 
The  small  chamber,  the  interior  of  which  he  took 
in  at  a  glance,  contained  two  beds  and  was  lighted 
by  a  lamp.  One  of  these  beds  had  just  been  va- 
cated; it  was  that  of  the  negress,  the  mysterious 
individual  who  had  crossed  the  gallery.  The  other 
was  a  low  cot,  on  which  Madeleine  was  tranquilly 
reposing.  Teverino,  standing  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  was  looking  anxiously  around  ;  in  a  moment, 
Leonce  saw  him  advance  towards  the  pallet  of  the 
bird-tamer  and  regard  her  attentively.  The  child 
slept  the  sleep  of  angels:  the  lamp,  placed  on  a 
table,  shed  a  glow  over  her  beautiful  countenance 
as  well  as  over  the  agitated  features  of  the  vagabond. 
The  partially  closed  door  concealed  Le'once  from 


254 


JEALOUSY. 


the  inmates  of  the  room,  while  he  could  observe 
everything  going  forward. 

"  Madeleine,"  thought  he,  changing  his  suspi- 
cions. "  Ah  !  that  would  be  still  more  infamous. 
I  will  save  her.  Why  does  this  cursed  negress 
thus  abandon  her  ?" 

He  was  about  to  make  a  noise  to  put  the  seducer 
to  flight,  /when  he  was  arrested  by  seeing  Teverino 
kneel  down  at  the  side  of  the  radiant  countenance 
of  the  child.  The  expression  of  his  face  had 
changed ;  its  anxiety  had  given  place  to  a  deep 
tenderness,  and  a  sort  of  religious  respect.  He 
remained  some  instants  as  if  plunged  in  sweet 
meditation.  One  might  have  thought  that  he 
was  praying,  for  never  had  his  beauty  appeared 
more  ideal.  Presently,  he  leaned  over  the  little 
girl,  and  bestowed  a  silent  kiss  upon  the  chaplet 
of  flowers  that  she  still  held  in  her  hand,  hanging 
down  from  the  bed.  Notwithstanding  the  precau- 
tions of  the  vagabond,  she  was  partially  awakened, 
and  doubtless  thinking  herself  in  her  hut 

"  Oh !  my  good  friend,"  she  said  a  low  voice, 
"  is  it  already  day  ?    Has  my  brother  returned  ?" 

"  No,  no,  Madeleine ;  go  to  sleep  again,  my  an- 
gel," replied  Teverino.  "  I  am  going  out  to  meet 
Joseph." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  go,"  she  muttered  in  a  voice 


JEALOUSY. 


255 


overcome  by  sleep.  "  I  will  get  up  when  you  are 
gone."  And  as  if  habit  had  measured  her  hours 
of  repose,  she  fell  asleep  again,  after  having  thus 
unconsciously  spoken.  As  Teverino  left  the  cham- 
ber, he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Leonce, 
who  sought  not  to  avoid  him.  All  at  once,  he  be- 
came greatly  agitated,  and  turning  abruptly,  he 
locked  Madeleine's  door,  taking  out  the  key.  Then, 
laying  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  arm,  "  Sir," 
said  he,  his  voice  trembling  with  emotion,  "  you 
shall  not  enjoy  this  diversion.  Go,  if  you  will,  and 
trouble  the  sleep  of  the  great  ladies,  but  the  child 
of  the  mountain  is  not  destined  to  serve  as  your 
pastime." 

"  If  I  had  had  that  infernal  idea,"  replied 
Leonce,  whose  calm  and  truthful  air  reassured  the 
clear-sighted  vagabond.  "I  should  be  greatly 
ashamed  of  it  in  your  presence,  brave  young 
man  !  I  have  surprised  the  secret  of  your  heart, 
and  I  am  already  acquainted  with  that  of  Made- 
leine. The  pre-occupation  of  my  own  mind  has, 
until  now,  prevented  me  from  recognizing  in  you 
the  good  friend  of  whom  she  has  spoken  to  me, 
and  I  accused  you  of  a  crime,  when  you  were 
only  obeying  a  paternal  solicitude." 

"  Paternal  solicitude !"  said  Teverino,  as  to- 
gether they  left  the  chamber  of  the  bird-tamer. 


256 


JEALOUSY. 


"  Yes,  that  is  the  word,  the  true  word,  Ldonce. 
Hearing  steps  on  the  gallery,  I  feared  danger  for 
the  defenceless  and  unsuspicious  child ;  some  base 
valet,  how  do  I  know  ?  or  even  your  brazen-faced 
jockey?  I  am  responsible  for  Madeleine  to  that 
brave  contrabandist,  who,  a  week  since,  confided 
to  me,  in  sacred  charge,  the  guardianship  of  his 
sister  and  his  cabin.  Oh  !  loyalty  of  the  Golden 
Age  !  thou  art  found  again  in  the  midst  of  a 
desert,  in  the  hearts  of  a  vagabond,  a  bandit  and 
a  young  girl !  You  see,  Leonce,  what  your 
crabbed  Cure'  terms  a  state  of  mortal  sin,  and 
what  your  noble  lady,  she,  who  so  much  despises 
a  life  of  misery  and  irregularity,  will  never  com- 
prehend. Alas  !  that  she  were  able  to  compre- 
hend the  heart  of  Madeleine!  That  holy  in- 
genuousness, which  knows  not  even  that  she  is  a 
treasure,  and  that  sublime  confidence,  which 
Sabina  herself,  with  all  the  power  of  her  wit  and 
beauty  has  not  disturbed !  Do  you  not  admire, 
Leonce,  the  calmness  and  discretion  of  this  child, 
who  was  satisfied  with  one  word  from  me  when 
she  saw  me  disguised,  and  whom,  my  role  of 
flatterer  at  the  side  of  your  mistress,  troubled 
with  no  foolish  paroxysms  of  jealousy?  Ah!  if 
you  could  have  heard  her  artless  questions,  as  she 
sat  with  me  on  the  carriage-box,  and  her  replies, 


JEALOUSY.  257 

full  of  magnanimity  and  goodness,  to  my  queries 
if  she  were  not  in  danger  of  finding  you  too 
amiable  and  handsome !  Our  love  is  different 
from  yours,  my  friend ;  for  we  have  boundless 
confidence  in  each  other  :  we  know  that  we  cannot 
be  deceived.  And  shall  I  avow  it  to  you  ?  the 
bird-tamer  is  far  more  lovely  and  charming  in  my 
eyes  than  ever,  since  I  have  breathed  the  atmos- 
phere of  a  great  lady  !  But  what  can  have  be- 
come of  that  cursed  negress?  She  leaves  open 
her  door,  as  if  she  were  in  a  convent  of  Carthu- 
sian friars.  I  will  stake  my  word  that  if 
Milady  had  confided  a  little  dog  to  her  keeping, 
she  would  have  taken  more  care  of  the  animal, 
than  she  takes  of  this  young  girl's  honor." 

And,  in  fact,  where  was  the  negress  ?  We 
would  not,  for  the  world,  believe  that  she  had  a 
rendezvous  with  Leonce's  jockey.  Perhaps  Sa- 
bina,  tormented  by  sleeplessness,  had  rung  for 
her  ;  perhaps  she  was  a  somnambulist.  All  that 
we  know  in  reference  to  this,  but  little  interest- 
ing portion  of  our  story,  is  that,  in  trying  to 
regain  her  chamber,  the  door  of  whicli  she  did  not 
expect  to  find  closed,  and  being  entirely  ignorant 
of  figures,  she  pushed  open  the  first  that  offered  the 
least  resistance,  and  fumbling  for  the  lamp  she 

had  left  lighted  at  the  bed-side,  her  ebony  hands 
1G 


258 


JEALOUSY. 


came  in  contact  with  the  Cure's  face.  The  nose 
of  the  holy  man,  somewhat  animated  by  the 
excellent  Cyprus  wine,  had  induced  the  illusion 
that  it  was  the  wick  of  a  candle  just  extinguished 
and  still  smoking.  In  the  fear  of  burning  herself, 
she  uttered  a  cry,  to  which  responded  a  groan  of 
terror  from  the  Cure,  who,  thus  rudely  awakened, 
started  up  in  bed,  and  beholding  this  dark  visage, 
enveloped  in  a  linen  turban,  strongly  outlined  on 
the  open  door,  he  thought  himself  attacked  by  the 
devil,  and,  seizing  his  breviary,  he  threw  it  at  his 
supposed  majesty,  at  the  same  time  thundering 
forth  all  the  exorcisms  which  came  to  his  mind. 

On  hearing  the  clamor  made  by  the  good  man, 
Leonce  and  Teverino  rushed  in,  and  preserved  the 
negress,  who,  bewildered  by  this  unexpected  en- 
counter, knew  not  where  to  fly,  in  order  to  avoid 
the  Cure's  lamp,  which  came  rolling  towards  her, 
with  tremendous  noise.  All  was  explained.  The 
trembling  Lele  accounted  in  her  own  way,  for  her 
nocturnal  promenade.  Teverino  threatened  to 
denounce  her  to  Milady,  if  she  did  not  keep  her- 
self shut  up  in  her  own  room,  whither  he  returned 
to  imprison  her..  The  Cure,  enchanted  at  having 
escaped  the  claws  of  Satan,  resumed  his  virtuous 
slumbers,  and  enjoyed  them  undisturbed  until 
day -light. 


JEALOUSY. 


259 


XII. 

A  CALM. 

Sabina  had  rested  no  better  than  her  com- 
panions. The  prediction  of  Leonce  had  been 
realized  to  an  extent  which  he  did  not  foresee, 
for  in  making  that  random  promise,  his  only  idea 
had  been  to  amuse  and  excite  her  a  little  by  the 
expectation  of  some  adventure,  with  which,  how- 
ever, he  had  no  thought  of  meeting.  All  the 
strange  incidents  of  the  day  were  continually 
passing  and  repassing  through  the  mind  of  this 
interesting  young  creature,  making  her  uncom- 
fortable and  unhappy.  At  first,  the  eccentricities 
of  Leonce,  the  violent  and  bitter  declaration  of 
love  he  had  made  to  her  in  the  wood,  with  the 
unlooked  for  tenderness  of  their  reconciliation; 
then,  his  sudden  anger  as  she  expressed  her  desire 
to  hold  him  to  the  terms  of  their  former  friend- 
ship, his  disappearance  for  hours  among  the 
mountains,  his  return  with  this  stranger,  so  fascin- 


260 


JEALOUSY. 


ating  and  whimsical,  who,  at  one  moment,  seemed 
to  her  most  nobly  impassioned,  the  next,  the  most 
prosaically  frivolous  of  men ;  now,  in  love  with 
her  to  the  point  of  adoration,  now,  sufficiently  in- 
different and  disinterested  to  intercede  with  her 
for  another ;  now,  the  model  and  flower  of  gentle- 
men, now,  the  veritable  type  of  strolling  players ; 
passing  from  a  pedantic  discussion  with  the  Cure', 
to  heavenly  musical  inspirations,  and  from  an 
equivocal  whispering  with  the  bird-tamer,  to  a 
general  conversation  full  of  elevated  thought, 
philosophy  and  poetical  enthusiasm. 

These  various  alternations  had  confounded  Sa- 
bina's  judgment,  and,  at  last,  crushed  her  spirit. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  still  bore  a  part  in  these 
different  scenes  and  conversations,  as  if  the  car- 
riage were  still  moving  forward  with  the  speed  of 
the  wind,  and,  with  her  closed  eyes,  she  seemed 
to  behold  again  all  the  diversity  of  mountain 
landscape,  in  the  midst  of  which  she  had  that  day 
journeyed.  She  no  longer  distinguished  between 
illusion  and  reality,  and  when,  for  a  moment,  she 
lost  herself  in  sleep,  she  awoke  with  a  start, 
imagining  herself  at  the  summit  of  the  tower, 
with  the  kiss  of  Teverino  still  warm  upon  her 
lips.  Then,  mocking  applause  and  contemptuous 
laughter  met  her  ear,  the  tower  fell  to  pieces  with 


JEALOUSY. 


261 


a  crash,  she  found  herself  in  a  dirty  street,  arm 
in  arm  with  the  mountebank,  and  face  to  face 
with  Leonce,  who,  throwing  to  them  the  alms  of 
pity,  turned  away  in  disgust. 

The  negress,  charged  to  awaken  her  mistress  at 
an  early  hour,  found  her  sitting  on  the  bed,  with 
a  spiritless  eye  and  a  heavy  heart.  She  presented 
to  her  the  white  Cashmere  houmous^  which  served 
as  her  robe  de  chambre  at  the  villa,  her  elegant 
dressing-case,  and,  in  short,  all  the  usual  luxuries 
of  her  toilet.  At  first,  she  made  use  of  them 
mechanically ;  then,  as  she  reflected  a  moment,  she 
asked  who  it  was  that  had  been  so  delicately 
thoughtful  as  to  provide  all  those  comforts.  On  the 
reply  of  Lele*  that  Leonce  was  the  instigator  of 
these  minute  preparations,  she  could  no  longer 
doubt  that,  from  the  first,  he  had  intended  to  pro- 
long their  excursion  until  the  following  day ;  this 
discovery  added  food  for  the  numerous  reveries  in 
which  she  indulged  while  submitting  to  the  pro- 
cess of  the  toilet. 

Judging  from  Teverino's  conduct  of  the  evening 
previous,  it  was  only  too  certain  that  he  did  not 
love  her.  After  those  passionate  compliments 
and  that  fatal  kiss,  how  had  it  been  possible  for 
him  to  throw  off  so  quickly  all  serious  emotion, 
and  voluntarily  enact  the  hero  in  a  ridiculous 


262 


JEALOUSY. 


burlesque?  And  when  again  alone  with  the  half- 
vanquished  woman,  how  was  it  that,  instead  of 
testifying  a  hypocritical  repentance  which  always 
asks  for  more,  and  which  a  proud  beauty  expects 
either  to  resist  or  to  yield,  he  had  been  able  to 
pursue  a  philosophical  discussion,  and  above  all, 
to  speak  to  her  of  Leonce's  love  rather  than  his 
own  ? 

Sabina  was  profoundly  humiliated  :  she  hurried 
through  this  painful  probing  of  the  wound,  in  order 
that  she  might  be  able  with  confidence  to  resume 
her  usual  haughty  bearing,  and  the  calm  deceit-ful- 
ness of  her  pretended  invulnerability.  But,  then,  if 
the  marquis  were  impertinent  and  dangerous,  for 
what  other  support  could  she  hope  than  that  of 
Leonce  ? 

Thus  gently  and  gradually  did  her  thoughts 
revert  to  her  old  champion  ;  certain  of  the  ge- 
nerosity of  his  soul,  she  asked  herself  with  remorse 
at  her  heart,  how  she  could  have  been  so  unjust 
and  inconsiderate  as  to  place  herself  in  a  position 
to  need  his  assistance.  When  she  compared  these 
two  men,  the  one,  a  tried  friend,  severe  but  faith- 
ful, the  other,  a  stranger,  fascinating  and  enig- 
matical ;  the  one,  whom  a  kiss,  granted  by  her, 
would  have  chained  to  her  feet  forever,  the  other, 
accepting  it  by  the  way  as  a  mere  adventure, 


JEALOUSY. 


263 


and  forgetting  it  on  the  instant ;  how  vehement 
were  her  self-upbraidings,  how  deep  her  blushes ! 

Leonce  expected  to  find  her  displeased  with  him ; 
on  the  contrary,  she  was  pale,  sad,  and  subdued. 
When  he  approached  to  kiss  her  hand,  according 
to  his  usual  custom,  he  perceived  a  tear  dropping 
from  her  black  eyelashes,  and  was,  in  turn,  invo- 
luntarily affected  by  her  emotion. 

"  You  are  suffering  ?"  said  he ;  "  you  have  passed 
a  bad  night?" 

"  You  predicted  it  for  me,  Leonce,  and  I  have 
to  render  you  an  account  of  those  terrible  emotions 
whose  remembrance  I  shall  never  lose.  Make  your 
arrangements  so  that  I  may  talk  tranquilly  with 
you  to-day,  and  pray  do  not  leave  me,  as  you  did 
so  cruelly  yesterday." 

Leonce  had  not  courage  to  reply  that  he  had 
thought  to  please  her  by  so  doing.  He  saw  too 
clearly  that  Sabina  had  neither  the  power  nor  the 
wish  to  justify  herself. 

On  his  part,  he  asked  himself  if  he  were  not  the 
only  one  to  blame ;  and  full  of  melancholy  and 
uncertainty,  he  left  the  room  to  preside  over  the 
preparations  for  departure. 

Happily,  the  Cure'  enlivened  the  breakfast,  other- 
wise extremely  dull,  by  reciting  his  terrible  en- 
counter with  his  Satanic  Majesty.    The  marquis 


264  JEALOUSY. 

■was  witty  and  good-humored.  Leonce  was  pre- 
occupied, and  Sabina  felt  grateful  for  his  sympa- 
thy. It  seemed  to  her  that  Teverino  manifested 
the  insolence  of  a  successful  lover,  and  she  hated 
him.    Nevertheless,  nothing  was  further  from  the 

thought  of  the  vagabond ;  the  fault  of  Lady  G  

appeared  of  much  less  consequence  to  him  than  to 
herself.  He  found  the  sin  so  venial,  and  his  phi- 
losophy regarding  it  was  so  tolerant,  as  to  derive 
from  it  little  cause  for  vain-glory.  This  arose  from 
the  fact  that,  in  a  certain  sense,  he  had  less  respect 
than  Leonce  for  the  virtue  of  women,  while,  at  the 
same  time,  he  had  more  confidence  in  their  moral 
value.  He  did  not,  for  yielding  to  a  momentary 
weakness,  condemn  them  as  incapable  of  a  real  or 
permanent  affection.  His  code  of  virtue  was  less 
elevated,  but  more  human.  His  ideal  did  not  lie 
in  strength,  but  in  tenderness  and  pardon. 

It  was  only  as  she  was  on  the  point  of  entering 
the  carriage,  that  Sabina  perceived  the  absence  of 
Madeleine. 

"  The  little  girl  set  off  at  day-break  for  the  moun- 
tains," said  Teverino.  "  She  feared  that  her  bro- 
ther might  be  uneasy  about  her,  if  she  were  not 
at  home  by  the  hour  he  generally  returns ;  she  has 
taken  a  bee-line  across  the  mountains,  escorted  by 
her  little  friends,  whom,  with  my  own  eyes,  I  saw 


JEALOUSY. 


265 


fly  to  meet  her,  at  the  gates  of  the  city.  I  went 
with  her  as  far  as  the  walls,  lest  she  should  be  as- 
sailed and  detained  by  the  children,  always  eager 
to  see  what  they  call  her  tricks  of  sorcery." 

"  The  marquis  is  more  thoughtful  than  the  rest 
of  us,"  said  Leonce ;  "  wre  had  almost  forgotten  our 
little  traveling  companion,  but  he  was  up  early 
to  protect  her  retreat." 

"  Do  you  call  that  protection  ?"  said  Sabina  in 
English,  and  with  the  utmost  bitterness. 

"  You  must  not  calumniate  Teverino,"  replied 
Leonce.    "  You  do  not  know  him  yet." 

"  And  did  you  not  tell  me  yesterday,  that  nei- 
ther do  you  know  him  ?" 

"  True,  but  I  have  found  him  again ;  henceforth, 
Sabina,  I  can  answer  for  him." 

"  Indeed !    He  is  then  really  a  man  of  honor?" 

"  Yes,  madam,  he  is  a  man  of  soul,  although  his 
fortune  is  not  brilliant." 

"  Is  his  family  poor,  or  has  he  ruined  himself?" 

"  Of  what  consequence  is  that  ?" 

"  It  is  of  great  consequence.  I  respect  the  po- 
verty of  a  gentleman,  but  I  have  a  bad  opinion  of 
a  nobleman  wTho  has  squandered  his  patrimony." 

"  In  that  case,  you  may  despise  me,  for  I  am  in 
a  fair  wTay  to  squander  mine." 

"  You  have  a  right  to  do  so,  and  moreover,  I 


266 


JEALOUSY. 


know  that  you  do  it  nobly  and  liberally.  With 
you,  it  does  not  involve  the  risk  of  being  reduced 
to  the  humiliations  of  poverty :  your  talent  as  an 
artist  secures  to  you  a  brilliant  future." 

"  If  I  were  a  capricious,  fickle  artist,  subject  to 
fits  of  idleness  and  languor,  the  idea  of  working 
for  money  might  chill  my  inspiration.  And  these 
are  the  characteristics  of  all  great  and  true  artists  ; 
you,  yourself,  did  you  not,  only  yesterday,  reproach 
me  for  having  been  born  in  a  station,  where  suc- 
cess is  easily  attained,  and  struggle  consequently 
not  meritorious  f" 

"  Kecall  to  my  mind  nothing  of  yesterday.  I 
wish  to  tear  that  page  from  the  book  of  my  life." 

While  thus  engaged  in  conversation,  they  had 
rapidly  traversed  the  plain  on  which  the  town  was 
situated.  In  order  to  regain  the  frontier,  it  was 
necessary  to  climb  the  steep  acclivity,  descended 
by  Teverino  the  day  before  with  so  much  audacity 
and  confidence.  This  occupied  nearly  an  hour,  at 
least.  Every  body  alighted,  excepting  Sabina, 
who  requested  Leonce  to  remain  with  her  in  the 
carriage.  The  jockey  employed  himself  in  leading 
the  horses,  the  negress  frolicked  along  the  ditches, 
chasing  the  butterflies  with  a  sort  of  savage  grace, 
and  displaying  to  advantage  both  the  delicacy  and 
etrength  of  her  voluptuous  form.    The  Cure,  who 


JEALOUSY.  267 

had  a  decided  horror  of  those  thick  lips,  that  Lu- 
cifer in  petticoats,  as  he  expressed  it,  walked  ahead 
with  Teverino.  The  latter  had  determined  to  re- 
concile the  priest  with  Madeleine's  good  friend, 
the  vagabond,  whom  the  good  man  had  never  seen, 
but  whom  he  promised  himself  to  have  seized  by 
the  gens  d'armes,  on  the  first  opportunity.  With- 
out speaking  to  him  of  this  individual,  the  marquis, 
foreseeing  the  moment  when  it  might  be  necessary 
to  raise  the  mask,  endeavored  to  reveal  himself 
under  his  best  aspects,  and  set  himself  seriously  at 
work  to  captivate  the  benevolence  and  confidence 
of  the  Growler.  This  was  no  difficult  task,  for  the 
Growler  was  at  heart  one  of  the  best  of  men,  when 
his  habits  of  comfort  were  not  interfered  with,  or 
his  religious  ideas  opposed. 

"  Listen,  Leonce,"  said  Sabina,  after  several  mo- 
ments of  deep  thought.  "  I  have  a  strange  con- 
fession to  make,  and  if  you  find  me  guilty,  I  must 
exculpate  myself  at  your  expense ;  for  you  are  the 
cause  of  all  the  trouble  I  have  experienced,  and 
you  seem  to  have  contemplated  my  suffering. 
Feeling  this,  that  you  yourself  are  so  much  in  fault, 
I  have  all  the  more  courage  to  acknowledge  my 
own  infirmities." 

"  Ought  I  not  spare  you  this  humiliation  ?"  re- 
plied Leonce,  taking  her  hand,  and  struggling  be- 


268 


JEALOUSY. 


tween  disdainful  pity  and  fraternal  interest.  "  Yes, 
it  is  the  duty  of  a  friend,  nay,  even  his  right.  You 
have  not  been  able  to  look  upon  my  marquis  with 
impunity.  You  have  felt  his  invincible  power, 
you  have  disowned  all  your  far-fetched  theories — 
in  short,  you  love  him." 

A  burning  blush  mantled  Sabina's  cheek,  and 
she  made  a  gesture  of  contempt ;  but,  with  an 
effort  to  subdue  her  emotion,  she  said,  "  And  if  it 
were  so,  would  you  blame  me?  Speak  frankly, 
Leonce,  don't  spare  me." 

"  Certainly  I  should  not  blame  you ;  but  I  should 
try  to  put  you  on  your  guard  against  this  new-born 
passion.  Teverino  is  not  unworthy,  of  that,  I  will 
take  my  oath  before  God,  who  knoweth  all  things, 
and  judgeth  differently  from  our  judgment.  But 
there  are  obstacles  between  this  man  and  you, 
which  you  could  not  and  would  not  surmount, 
poor  woman.  A  life  of  hazard,  of  reverses,  of  inex- 
plicable eccentricity,  chains  Teverino  down  to  a 
sphere  whither  you  cannot  follow  him.  A  tie  be- 
tween two  such  persons  as  you  and  he  would  be 
deplorable  for  both." 

"  You  answer  a  question  which  I  have  not  asked. 
What  signifies  to  me  the  future — what  signifies  to 
me  the  destiny  of  this  man  V* 


JEALOUSY. 


269 


"  Ah !  how  much  you  love  him !"  cried  Leonce, 
bitterly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  love  him  very  much  indeed  I"  she 
replied  with  a  hollow  laugh.  "  You  are  a  fool, 
Leonce.  That  man  is  completely  indifferent  to 
me." 

"  What  is  it  then  that  you  ask  me  ?  Do  you 
mock  at  my  credulity  ?" 

"  God  forbid !  I  asked  you,  were  this  love  pos- 
sible, would  it  seem  to  you  culpable  ?" 

"  Culpable,  no;  I  must  admit  that  I  should  be 
the  guilty  one." 

"  And  it  would  not  diminish  your  friendship  for 
me?" 

"  My  friendship,  no ;  but  my  respect  .  .  .  9 
"  Speak  it  out.  Why  should  your  respect  change 
to  pity?" 

"  Because  I  should  be  convinced  that  you  had 
not  been  frank  with  me  concerning  the  Past.  What ! 
such  an  intensity  of  pride,  coldness,  disdain  for  fee- 
ble woman,  such  raillery  for  the  suddenly  fallen, 
such  contempt  for  blind  enthusiasm  of  passion ;  and 
yet,  all  at  once,  would  you  unveil  yourself  as  the 
weakest  and  blindest  of  all  ?  For  years,  you  would 
seem  to  have  surrounded  yourself  with  defences 
against  a  love,  tender,  true,  and  profound,  to  yield 
at  last,  and  in  a  moment  to  a  passing  prestige !  Such 


270 


JEALOUSY. 


an  event  would  have  deprived  your  character  of 
all  its  originality,  all  its  grandeur." 

"  How  little  consistent  you  are,  Leonce  !  Yes- 
terday, you  made  desperate,  ferocious  war  upon 
this  odious  character ;  you  taxed  it  with  egotism 
and  cold  barbarity.  You  were  ready  to  hate  me 
for  having  never  loved." 

"  Then  I  suppose  your  honor  was  piqued  to  make 
me  see  of  what  you  were  capable  Vs 

"  Be  generous  and  dispassionate.  Do  not  believe 
me  so  contemptible  as  to  mark  out  a  role  for  my- 
self and  tranquilly  resolve  to  make  you  suffer." 

"  Suffer,  I  ?    Why  should  I  have  suffered  ?" 

"  Because,  Leonce,  you  loved  me  yesterday. 
Yes ;  you  spoke  to  me  of  love,  while  your  actions 
indicated  hatred;  you  implored  even  while  you 
spurned  me.  I  know  that  to-day  the  thought  hu- 
miliates you.  I  know  that  to-day  you  no  longer 
love  me." 

"  And  this,"  said  Leonce,  sadly,  "  this  is  what  is 
called  reading  the  heart.  I  suppose  you  are  as 
indifferent  to-day,  when  I  am  cured,  as  you  were 
yesterday,  when  I  was  ill  ?" 

"  Know,  then,  all  the  perversity  of  my  instinct. 
I  was  not  more  indifferent  yesterday  than  I  am  to- 
day. I  almost  accepted  your  love  yesterday  while 


JEALOUSY.  271 

refusing  it,  and  to-day,  while  seeming  to  implore, 
I  renounce  it." 

"  You  do  well,  Sabina.  It  would  be  a  great 
misfortune  for  both  of  us  were  it  to  continue  after 
what  I  have  seen  and  what  I  know." 

"  Nevertheless,  you  do  not  know  everything, 
and  I  wish  that  you  should.  Yesterday,  on  the 
summit  of  the  tower,  I  was  affected  unto  tears  by 
the  voice  of  this  Italian ;  a  vertigo  seized  me,  I 
felt  his  lips  touch  mine,  and  if  I  had  not  heard 
your  steps  approaching,  perhaps  I  should  not  have 
turned  away." 

"  It  is  very  easy  for  you  to  make  this  confession 
to  one,  who  lost  nothing  of  that  picturesque  tab- 
leau. It  seemed  as  if  I  beheld  Francoise  de  Rim- 
ini receiving  the  first  kiss  of  Lanciotto.  You  were 
very  beautiful." 

"  Ah !  Leonce,  what  means  that  shudder,  that 
frowning  glance,  that  trembling  voice?  What 
matters  it  to  you  to-day,  since  for  this  fault  you 
have  ceased  to  love  me,  since  you  despise  me  so 
much  as  to  wish  to  take  from  me  the  merit  of  con- 
fidence and  repentance  f 

"  I  have  no  faith  in  repentance  confessed  with 
so  much  audacity." 

"  Well ;  call  it  audacity  if  you  will.  I  do  not 
pique  myself  on  the  contrary,  and  I  am  not  asking 


272  JEALOUSY. 

the  pardon  of  a  lover,  but  the  absolution  of  friend- 
ship. Listen,  Ldonce.  The  humiliating  experience 
of  yesterday,  made  at  my  expense,  has  caused  me 
to  change  my  sentiments  regarding  love,  as  well 
as  my  opinion  of  myself.    I  dreamed  of  something 
sublime  and  unheard  of ;  still  more,  I  believed  in 
it  and  looked  upon  you  as  scarcely  worthy  to 
guide  me  to  the  discovery  of  that  ideal.    Now,  I 
have  learned  to  comprehend  the  nothingness  of 
my  dreams,  and  the  shameful  infirmity  of  human 
nature.    A  sparkling  eye,  a  flattering  word,  a 
beautiful  voice,  the  fatigue  and  excitement  of  a 
day  of  adventures,  the  intoxication  of  a  charming 
night,  of  a  magnificent  view,  and,  above  all,  a 
malicious  instinct  of  spite  towards  you,  rendered 
me  as  weak  at  a  given  moment  as  I  had  for  years 
been  strong  and  invincible  in  the  world.    An  in- 
conceivable trouble  weighed  upon  me,  a  cloud 
covered  my  eyes,  a  buzzing  filled  my  ears.    I  felt 
also  that  I  was  a  passive  being,  swayed,  hurried 
away,  in  one  word,  a  woman !    And  from  that 
moment,  the  mighty  scaffolding  of  my  pride 
has  crumbled  to  pieces.    Undeceived  in  regard  to 
my  own  heart,  lowered  in  my  own  estimation,  I 
weep  my  lost  faith  in  myself ;  but  I  thought,  at 
least,  to  be  able  to  thank  God  for  having  placed 
me  near  a  generous  friend,  who  would  preserve 


JEALOUSY. 


273 


me  from  utter  ruin  and  console  me  in  my  grief. 
Am  I,  then,  deceived,  Leonce,  and  will  you  not 
try  to  close  this  bleeding  wound  at  the  bottom  of 
my  heart?  Must  I,  indeed,  weep  in  solitude,  and 
am  I  to  be  forever  confounded  by  the  voice  of  my 
conscience  ?  If  this  despair  is  to  finish  by  break- 
ing my  heart,  if  a  first  false  step  is  to  place  me  on 
a  fatal  declivity,  if  I  must  still  submit  to  such 
miserable  temptations  and  feel  the  magnitude  of 
the  dangers  I  have  so  much  despised,  shall  I  have 
no  friend  to  hold  out  a  helping  hand  of  protection? 
Will  this  friend  be  my  husband,  the  cold,  in- 
temperate Englishman,  whose  reason  is  annihi- 
lated in  the  fascination  of  the  wine-cup,  and  to 
whom  the  temptations  of  love  have  no  reality? 
Shall  I  find  this  friend  in  my  train  of  perfidious 
adorers,  men  of  the  world,  heartless  and  depraved, 
who  hesitate  not  at  any  lie  whereby  to  seduce  a 
woman,  but  who  despise  her  from  the  moment  she 
listens  to  the  lies  of  another?  Tell  me,  where, 
then,  shall  I  henceforth  fly  for  refuge,  if  the  only 
man  to  whose  friendship  I  can  disclose  the  secret 
of  my  blushes  shall  repulse  me  and  answer  coldly  : 
4  Of  pity,  yes ;  but  of  respect,  no !'  " 

Sabina  had  spoken  with  energy ;  her  face  was 
deathly  pale,  with  the  exception  of  a  light,  burn- 
ing spot  in  the  centre  of  each  cheek.    She  had 
17 


274 


JEALOUSY. 


really  a  fever ;  and  the  morning  breeze,  scatter 
ing  about  her  magnificent  hair  in  every  direction, 
gave  her  an  unusual  aspect  of  disorder  and  violent 
emotion.  Leonce  thought  her  more  beautiful 
than  ever,  and  seizing  her  icy  cold  hand,  he 
carried  it  to  his  lips  to  reanimate  it.  A  torrent 
of  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks,  and  leaning  upon 
the  shoulder  of  her  friend,  she  was  received  in 
his  arms,  and  pressed  passionately  to  his  heart. 
Leonce  remained  silent.  He  could  not  say  one 
word.  The  prejudices  of  his  pride  struggled  with 
the  enthusiasm  of  his  heart.  Had  the  question  at 
stake  really  been  the  pardon  of  friendship,  nothing 
would  have  been  easier  for  him  than  to  bestow 
tender  consolations;  but  Leonce  was  in  love, 
foolishly  in  love,  perhaps,  and  the  duties  of 
friendship  no  longer  presented  themselves  to  hi& 
mind.  The  struggle  was  with  a  passion  much 
more  exacting  and  jealous ;  he  suffered  dreadful 
tortures  at  the  thought  that,  not  distant  more  than 
two  steps  from  him,  was  a  man  who,  in  one  in- 
stant, had  succeeded  in  opening  a  heart,  which  had 
for  years  been  closed  against  him.  Notwithstand 
ing  this  internal  combat,  Leonce  was  vanquished 
without  admitting  it;  for  he  was  born  generous,^ 
and,  moreover,  he  experienced  the  sentiment 
which  becomes  in  us  the  most  generous  of  all, 


JEALOUSY.  275 

whenever  we  succeed  in  separating  its  divine 
essence  from  the  filth  of  vanity  and  egotism. 

"  Do  not  ask  me  any  questions,"  said  he  to 
Sabina.  "  I  also  suffer — but  rest  thus  on  my 
heart,  and  let  us  both  endeavor  to  forget !" 

He  retained  her  in  his  arms,  and  soon  she  ex- 
perienced the  sweetness  of  that  magnetic  fluid, 
which  emanates  from  a  friendly  heart,  and  bears 
with  it  more  eloquence  than  words.  They  both 
breathed  more  freely,  and  as  Sabina's  eyes  closed 
in  enjoyment  of  this  pure  delight,  he  said,  draw- 
ing her  still  closer  to  him,  "  Sleep,  dear  invalid, 
repose  from  your  fatigue."  She  yielded  instinc- 
tively to  this  invitation,  and,  gently  rocked  by  the 
slow  motion  of  the  carriage,  and  soothed  by  the 
solicitude  of  her  friend,  a  beneficent  sleep  soon 
repaired  her  strength,  bringing  back  with  it  to 
her  cheeks  that  uniformly  pale  color,  which  be- 
longs to  the  type  of  brunettes. 


276 


JEALOUSY. 


XIII. 
halt! 

Sabina  did  not  awake  until  they  had  arrived  at 
the  cabin  of  the  custom-house  officer;  before  she 
could  think  to  disengage  herself  from  the  long 
and  silent  embrace  of  Leonce,  Teverino's  piercing 
eye  had  surprised  the  mystery  of  this  chaste  re- 
conciliation. Le'once  saw  his  friendly  smile,  and 
faintly  responded  to  it,  whereupon  the  vagabond, 
pointing  to  the  sky,  and  resuming  the  recitative 
from  Tanckedi,  which  he  had  the  night  before 
chanted  on  the  same  spot,  he  sounded  this  one 
word  'Ameniade  P  where,  in  three  notes,  Rossini 
had,  with  wonderful  skill,  expressed  so  much  grief 
and  tenderness. 

Teverino  threw  into  it  an  expression  so  true  and 
touching,  that  Le'once  could  not  help  saying  to 
him,  as  he  alighted  from  the  carriage  to  speak  to 
the  officer :  "  To  hear  you  pronounce  this  name 
and  sing  those  three  notes,  is  enough  to  convince 
me  that  you  are  a  great  singer,  and  understand 
muiic  like  a  o  aster." 


JEALOUSY.  277 

"I  understand  love  still  better  than  music," 
replied  Teverino,  "  and  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  see 
that  you  also  begin  to  understand  it.  Believe  me, 
when  love  speaks  to  your  heart,  raise  your  heart 
to  God,  who  is  all  goodness  and  infinite  lcve. 
You  will  then  feel  that  wounded  heart  become 
calm  and  simple  again,  like  that  of  a  child." 

"  We  are  then  to  have  you  for  a  driver  again," 
said  the  Cure,  as  he  saw  Teverino  mount  the  box. 
"  I  hope,  at  least,  that  you  will  be  wiser  than  you 
were  yesterday." 

"  Are  you  dissatisfied  with  me,  my  dear  Abbe  ? 
Have  you  met  with  the  slightest  accident?  Why 
then  do  you  not  sit  at  my  side,  to  moderate  my 
impetuosity,  if  need  be  ?" 

"  Nonsense ;  you  manage  me  just  as  you  please. 
If  Barbara  could  see  how  you  lead  me  by  the  nose, 
she  would  be  jealous,  and  reclaim  her  right  to  the 
monopoly.  The  fact  is,  I  am  getting  used  to  your 
follies,  and  cannot  but  admit  that  you  are  a  clever 
fellow,  (come,  whip  up,  coachee,)  provided  we  ac- 
tually return  to  Saint  Apollinaire  to-day,  and  avoid 
that  cursed  torrent,  which  always  seems  determined 
to  carry  away  the  bridge  and  its  passengers." 

"  If  we  avoid  the  torrent,  we  take  a  longer  road, 
dear  Abbe,  and  I  ask  nothing  better." 

"  Take  the  longest  road,  then,"  said  the  Cure', 


278  JEALOUSY. 

plunging  his  great  hat  over  his  eyes  in  a  very  re- 
fractory manner.  "  '  Chi  v a  piano,  va  sano.1  An 
hour  more  or  less  in  a  journey,  is  no  great  matter. 
i  Chi  va  sano,  va  bene.''  " 

They  turned  into  another  road,  and  Sabina  asked 
Le*once  if  they  were  really  en  route  for  the  villa. 

"  I  hope  so,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  am  ignorant  of 
our  destination.  I  must  own  that  all  my  magnetic 
power  seems  to  have  abandoned  me,  since  it  has 
passed  into  the  marquis.  He  alone  must  now  be 
our  compass." 

"  Then  I  shall  openly  revolt.  I  will  only  be 
directed  by  you." 

i 1  hear,  Signora,"  said  Teverino.  "  Be  assured 
that  I  am  only  the  helm,  obeying  the  guiding  hand 
of  Le'once.  M.  le  Cure  is  the  compass ;  his  eyes 
are  always  turned  towards  the  pole,  and  the  star 
is  Dame  Barbe,  his  venerable  housekeeper." 

"  Well  said !  well  said  I"  exclaimed  the  Cure, 
laughing  heartily. 

The  road  was  long,  but  beautiful.  Teverino 
drove  very  carefully,  pausing  at  every  remarkable 
site,  to  give  his  companions  an  opportunity  of  ad- 
miring the  country.  His  playfully  kind  manners 
and  respectful  bearing  towards  Sabina,  reassured 
her,  little  by  little.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  anx- 
ious to  make  her  forget  a  momentary  weakness. 


JEALOUSY.  279 

She  felt  grateful  for  this  consideration,  but  her 
gracious  words  and  tender  glances  were  only  for 
Leonce. 

Before  long,  the  heat  grew  oppressive  5  Sabina 
again  gently  slumbered,  while,  with  persevering 
solicitude,  Leonce  held  an  umbrella  over  her  head. 
When  she  awoke,  she  beheld  with  surprise  that 
they  were  in  the  midst  of  a  Gothic  Cloister! 

The  britzska  was  standing  in  a  large  court,  cov- 
ered with  grass,  closely  trimmed  and  shaven,  and 
ornamented  by  a  beautifully  gushing  fountain. 
Buildings,  singularly  elegant  and  of  antique  con- 
struction, surrounded  this,  the  oldest  part  of  the 
monastery.  Beyond  and  through  their  vaulted 
arcades,  could  be  seen  on  one  side,  the  extensive 
perspective  of  a  charming  valley ;  on  the  other,  far 
above  the  serrated  points  of  the  architecture,  rose 
the  arid  and  frowning  peaks  of  mountains.  In 
front,  this  court  was  separated  from  a  second  en- 
closure of  the  convent  grounds,  by  a  high  grating, 
through  which  was  visible  a  parterre  of  flowers, 
surrounded  by  buildings  of  a  more  modern  date, 
in  better  preservation  and  loaded  down  with  orna- 
ment, in  the  taste  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The 
Cure,  with  his  face  glued  to  the  grating,  pulled  the 
sonorous  bell,  and  figures  of  monks,  startled  by  the 


280  JEALOUSY. 

noise,  appeared  in  the  shadow  of  a  second  vaulted 
door,  opening  into  a  third  enclosure. 

"  I  fear,  Milady,"  said  Teverino,  "  that  I  may 
have  displeased  you  in  bringing  you  among  these 
good  Fathers.  This  is  the  Convent  of  Notre  Dame 
du  Refuge,  and  our  dear  Abbe  is  of  opinion  that  a 
little  repose  and  refreshment  will  embellish  this 
poetic  resting-place.  It  is  our  intention  to  ask  per- 
mission of  the  prior  to  introduce  you  into  the  heart 
of  the  sanctuary,  but,  to  obtain  it,  we  must  pass 
you  off  for  an  old  Irish  lady,  an  ultra  Catholic. 
Have  the  goodness,  therefore,  to  lower  your  veil, 
and  be  careful  to  conceal  your  features  as  well  as 
your  figure,  until  after  the  grating  is  opened." 

"  These  monks  are  ahead  of  you  in  shrewdness," 
said  Leonce.  "Here  comes  already  the  brother 
porter  to  take  a  nearer  view  of  our  young  tra- 
veler." 

After  some  parley,  the  monks  consented  to  ad- 
mit the  women  into  the  second  court,  but  no  fur- 
ther ;  then,  with  much  grace  and  affability,  they 
gave  directions  as  to  the  care  of  the  horses  and 
conducted  our  travelers  into  a  deliciously  cool  and 
tastefully  decorated  apartment,  where  a  dainty 
collation  awaited  them. 

And  now  commenced  a  rolling  fire  of  questions, 
in  which  the  innocent  curiosity  of  these  lazy  saints 


JEALOUSY.  281 

more  than  once  sorely  embarrassed  our  prudential 
Cure.  He  was  compelled  to  lend  himself  to  the 
inventions  of  Teverino,  who  boldly  introduced 
Leonce  as  Lord  G  ,  Sabina's  husband,  and  as- 
serted that  they  had  come  direct  from  Saint  Apol- 
linaire,  where  M.  le  Cure  had  officiated  at  mass 
that  morning  before  their  departure.    The  prior 

was  astonished  that  Lord  G  .had  no  English 

accent,  and  that  they  had  taken  the  road  across 
the  mountain  instead  of  coming  by  the  valley. 
Teverino  had  an  answer  ready  for  every  emergency; 
but  finally,  tired  out  with  this  incessant  flow  of 
questions,  he,  in  his  turn,  became  the  assailant, 
overwhelming  them  with  praises  of  their  convent, 
their  good  looks  and  liberal  hospitality.  After  the 
repast  was  finished,  he  demanded  for  the  men,  at 
least,  permission  to  visit  the  chapel  and  interior 
cloisters  ;  by  this  means,  procuring  for  Leonce,  an- 
other tranquil  tete-a-tete  with  Sabina,  whom  the 
latter  would  not  leave  alone. 

"  They  are  newly  married,"  said  Teverino  in  a 
low  tone  to  the  prior.  "  Some  of  your  monks 
here  seem  to  be  very  young  men,  and  my  Lord 
is  jealous  even  of  an  innocent  and  respectful 
glance  towards  his  noble  spouse." 

All  monks  enjoy  little  secrets  and  delicate 
confidences.   Overlooking  the  taint  of  worldliness 


282 


JEALOUSY. 


in  this  remark,  the  good  father  smiled  and  bowed 

maliciously  to  the  pretended  Lord  G  ,  as  he 

invited  him  to  pluck  some  flowers  for  Milady. 

Le*once  and  his  companion,  after  admiring  the 
flourishing  condition  of  this  garden,  cultivated 
with  so  much  enthusiasm  and  science,  retraced 
their  steps  to  the  first  court,  where  the  dilapidated 
buildings  and  the  tall,  neglected  weeds  had  more 
character  and  more  poetry.  This  spot  was  com- 
pletely deserted,  and  its  antique  constructions, 
bordering  upon  the  open  country,  were  used  only 
as  stables  and  store  houses.  The  mule  of  the 
prior,  grown  white  with  age,  grazed  with  a  mel- 
ancholy air;  the  cooing  of  pigeons  on  the  moss- 
covered  roofs,  accompanied  by  the  uniform  mur- 
muring of  the  fountain,  and  the  ticking  of  the 
clock,  punctually  announcing  each  moment  as  it 
flew,  were  the  only  interruptions  to  the  silence  of 
this  habitation,  where  time  had  no  veritable  em- 
ployment, and  where  life  seemed  to  have  paused. 

Sabina,  seated  on  a  bench  near  the  black  marble 
fountain,  resembled  the  statue  of  melancholy. 
Since  morning,  a  complete  revolution  had  taken 
place  in  the  manners,  attitude  and  expression  of 
this  beautiful  woman,  and  Le'once  felt,  while  re- 
garding her,  that  all  was  changed  between  them. 
She  was  no  longer  the  disdainful  beauty,  skeptical 


JEALOUSY.  283 

of  the  existence  of  real  love,  proudly  exalted  by 
the  belief  in  a  sort  of  ideal  and  impossible  love, 
with  which  no  mortal  had  yet  seemed  to  her 
worthy  of  being  associated,  even  in  her  dreams. 
That  impetuosity  of  character,  that  painful  tension 
of  the  will  which  had  so  much  dismayed  and 
irritated  Le'once,  was  superseded  by  a  soft  languor, 
a  touching  sadness,  a  profound  thoughtfulness,  by 
an  ensemble  of  amiability  and  tenderness,  of  which 
he  alone  was  the  object.  She  was  a  timid  woman, 
bruised  and  trembling,  and  for  the  first  time  she 
possessed  an  attraction  for  him,  unchilled  by 
distrust  or  fear.  He  felt  himself  at  ease  with  her: 
he  could  speak  and  breathe  without  dread  of  that 
piquant  and  brilliant  raillery,  which,  although  it 
roused  his  intellect,  kept  his  heart  on  the  alert 
against  her  and  against  himself.  He  had  no 
longer  need,  as  yesterday,  to  affect  the  role  of 
doctor  and  mysterious  pedagogue,  a  cold  and 
forced  pleasantry,  which  had  concealed  such  an 
intensity  of  emotion.  Henceforth,  he  was  her 
protector,  her  soul's  physician,  almost  its  master; 
and  where  man  feels  that  he  controls  and  governs, 
he  pardons  every  thing,  even  the  infidelity  which 
causes  his  own  self-love  to  bleed. 

He  was  seated  at  the  feet  of  his  docile  penitent; 
after  a  long  silence,  in  which,  perhaps,  he  was 


284  JEALOUSY. 

rather  pleased  to  prolong  her  timidity  and  sus- 
pense, he  asked  her  if  the  confidence  she  had 
ventured  to  repose  in  him  had  not  diminished  her 
affection. 

"  Perhaps  it  might,"  she  replied,  "  if  I  regarded 
you  otherwise  than  as  a  lover  who  leaves  me  and 
a  friend  who  is  restored  to  me.  But  if  the  friend 
cures  me  of  my  wounds,  I  shall  see  with  joy  the 
lover  disappear  forever.  My  pride  cannot  suffer 
as  it  does  now,  for  if  love  be  proud  and  susceptible, 
if  its  pardon  be  humiliating  and  unacceptable,  the 
forgiveness  of  friendship  is  the  holiest  and  sweet- 
est of  benefits !  Ah !  think,  Le'once,  how  much 
more  pure  and  precious  is  this  divine  sentiment 
than  the  other,  for  it  neither  harrows  up  the  soul, 
nor  diminishes  in  strength,  but  it  ennobles  and 
purifies !  Yesterday,  I  would  have  accepted  from 
you  neither  assistance  nor  pity :  to-day,  I  should 
not  blush  to  pray  for  them  on  my  knees." 

"  Indeed,  my  friend,  you  have  not  yet  arrived 
at  the  truth  :  from  one  extreme,  you  fly  to  the 
other.  Yesterday,  you  had  too  much  contempt 
for  friendship ;  to-day,  you  exalt  it  beyond  mea- 
sure. You  will  not  divest  yourself  of  the  false 
notion  you  have  so  long  held  concerning  these  two 
sentiments,  and  you  always  seem  determined  to 
consider  them  independent  of  each  other ;  yet,  the 


JEALOUSY.  285 

union  of  the  sexes  is  only  truly  ideal  and  perfect, 
when  they  exist  together  in  two  noble  hearts. 
What  then  is  true  love,  if  it  be  not  an  exalted 
friendship?    Yes,  love  is  friendship  carried  to 
enthusiasm.    It  is  said  that  love,  by  itself,  is 
blind  !    But  where  friendship  is  clairvoyant,  it  is 
ready  to  die  with  cold !    Believe  me,  if  your  fault 
had  appeared  grave  and  unpardonable,  if  a  mo- 
ment of  trouble  and  weakness  had  rendered  you, 
in  my  eyes,  unworthy  of  my  love,  I  should  not 
have  been  your  friend,  and  you  would  have  done 
right  to  repulse  my  consolations,  in  place  of 
accepting  them.    In  youth,  the  man  loves  not  the 
woman  whom  he  does  not  desire,  and  whom  he 
could   behold  in  the  arms  of  another  without 
jealousy.    In  that  case,  the  word  friendship  is  a 
mockery,  and  God  preserve  me  from  saying  I  love 
you  thus.    I  confess  to  you  that  the  events  of 
yesterday  still  cause  me  excruciating  suffering, 
and  the  feeling  of  irritation  in  my  heart  against 
you  at  this  moment,  is  more  nearly  akin  to  hatred 
than  to  friendship,  such  as  you  define  it.  Not 
that  I  regard  you  as  fallen  or  unworthy,  but  you 
are  unjust,  cruel,  guilty  towards  me,  the  man  who 
loves  you,  and  who  deserves  the  happiness  you 
have  bestowed  upon  another." 

"  You  make  my  fault  appear  still  more  hideous 


286 


JEALOUSY. 


to  me,"  said  Sabina,  trembling  with  emotion. 
"  Do  you  believe,  then,  that  I  have  not  thought 
of  this,  and  that  I  do  not  continually  reproach 
myself  for  this  wrong  towards  you?  To  God  I 
confess  it." 

"  And  why  not  to  me  also,  to  me  especially  ?" 
cried  Leonce,  violently  seizing  her  hands.  "  You 
know  that  God  has  already  pardoned  you,  and 
do  you  not  wish  for  my  pardon,  the  pardon  of 
your  friend  and  lover?" 

"  Spare  me  this  suffering,"  said  Sabina,  her 
pride  reduced  to  the  last  extremity.  "  Kead  my 
heart,  and  then  understand,  if  you  can,  what  is 
the  great  cause  of  my  grief." 

"  I  accept  the  sacrifice,"  said  Leonce,  with  en- 
thusiasm. "  It  is  the  greatest  proof  of  love  that 
a  woman  such  as  you  can  give.  Tell  me  that  you 
have  sinned  against  me ;  raise  your  haughty  head 
to  heaven,  and  brave  God  if  you  will ;  it  signifies 
to  me  little.  It  is  not  my  mission  to  threaten  you 
with  his  displeasure;  but  you  have  broken  my 
heart,  and  it  is  your  duty  to  acknowledge  it.  If 
you  do  not  repent  of  this  evil  you  have  done  to- 
wards me,  it  is  because  you  have  no  wish  to  make 
reparation." 

"Indeed,  Leonce,  I  do  implore  your  pardon. 
And  in  proof  that  you  grant  it,  obliterate  forever 


JEALOUSY.  287 

from  your  heart,  I  entreat  you,  all  remembrance 
of  that  odious  kiss." 

"  It  is  no  longer  there,  it  never  has  been  !"  cried 
Leonce,  pressing  her  to  his  bosom.  "  And  now," 
said  he,  falling  on  his  knees,  "  walk  over  me  if  you 
will,  I  am  your  slave ;  and  may  a  red  iron  brand 
my  lips,  if  a  reproach  or  an  allusion  to  any  other 
kiss  than  mine,  shall  ever  escape  them." 

At  this  moment,  the  convent  clock  sounded  the 
hour  of  two,  and  the  door  of  the  second  court 
opened  to  let  out  a  young  brother,  clothed  in  the 
white  robe  worn  by  novices. 

He  was  alone  and  advanced  slowly,  with  his 
head  bent  down  under  a  cowl,  and  his  hands 
crossed  upon  his  breast,  as  if  absorbed  in  humble 
meditation. 

Ltkmce  and  Sabina  rose  to  meet  him,  whereupon 
he  bowed  himself  reverently  to  the  ground,  in  tes- 
timony of  his  respect  and  humility.  But,  all  at 
once,  this  tall  figure  stood  upright  before  them, 
and  throwing  back  his  cowl,  revealed  the  long, 
black  hair,  and  laughing  countenance  of  Teverino, 
instead  of  the  shaven  crown  of  the  monk. 

"  What  means  this  new  disguise  ?"  exclaimed 
Leonce. 

In  answer  Teverino  raised  his  hand  to  the  bell- 
tower  of  the  convent  clock,  whose  azure  dial 


288  JEALOUSY. 

marked  the  hours  in  letters  of  gold.  Then,  kneel- 
ing down  like  a  penitent,  he  said,  in  a  hollow  voice, 
"  The  hour  is  passed ;  my  confession  must  now  be 
heard." 

"  Not  a  word,"  said  Le*once,  placing  a  hand  on 
his  shoulder  and  shaking  him  with  affectionate 
authority.  "  Upon  your  life  and  soul,  brother,  be 
silent.  Do  you  believe  me  cowardly  enough  to 
betray  you  ?  May  your  secret  die  with  you  ;  it  is 
yours  alone,  and  you  possess  too  generous  a  heart 
to  confess  it  to  others." 

"  I  am  not  a  child,  that  I  cannot  understand 
what  I  must  or  must  not  reveal,"  replied  the  vaga- 
bond; "but there  are  some  things  that  would  trou- 
ble my  conscience  if  I  did  not  now  confess  them  ; 
and  all  the  more,  because  in  this  relation,  neither 
of  us  present,  has  anything  to  conceal  from  the 
others.  Listen  then,  noble  and  generous  Signora, 
to  the  lament  of  a  poor  sinner,  who  comes  to  de- 
mand absolution  from  you  and  Leonce. 

"  This  miserable  wretch,  attached  to  your  noble 
friend  by  the  sacred  ties  of  gratitude  and  affection, 
had  the  misfortune  to  meet  one  day  in  the  middle 
of  the  forest,  a  lady  of  illustrious  birth  and  ravish- 
ing beauty.  He  could  not  see  and  hear  her  without 
becoming  fascinated  with  the  charms  of  her  mind 
and  person.  While  indulging  in  the  supreme  hap- 


JEALOUSY.  289 

piness  of  listening  to  her  voice  and  gazing  upon 
her  beauty,  he  somehow  forgot  that  Leonce  was 
irretrievably  in  love  with  her,  and  that  he,  himself, 
had  other  affections  to  respect.  He  had  even  the 
foolish  vanity  to  sing  in  order  to  divert  her  thoughts, 
for  this  admirable  woman  was  sad.  A  cloud  had 
risen  between  her  and  Leonce,  and  her  heart  filled 
with  tears  as  she  thought  of  him.  This  unworthy 
sinner  was  passionately  fond  of  his  art,  and  he 
could  not  sing  without  being  lost  in  enthusiasm 
and  moved  to  the  depths  of  his  soul.  It  happened 
then,  that  when  his  romance  was  finished,  he  saw 
that  the  lady  was  affected,  and  then  there  came  over 
him,  as  it  were,  a  whirlwind  of  ridiculous  fatuity, 
a  dazzling  paroxysm  of  delirium.  Forgetful  of  his 
personal  duties,  his  holy  friendship  for  Leonce,  and 
the  profound  respect  he  owed  to  the  Signora,  he 
had  the  audacity  to  profit  by  her  grievous  pre-oc- 
cupation,  to  place  himself  at  her  side,  and  surprise 
one  cf  those  pure  caresses  which  was  destined  for 
another.  He  was  about  to  ravish  a  kiss,  a  pre- 
sumption for  which  his  life  would  not  have  been 
sufficient  payment,  but  the  noble  lady  turned 
away  her  head  in  horror  and  indignation.  Hap- 
pily, Le'once  appeared  and  protected  his  friend 
from  the  audacity  of  a  villain.  Since  that  moment, 

the  lady  has  looked  upon  him  only  with  contempt, 
18 


290  JEALOUSY. 

and  he,  his  guilty  soul  penetrated  by  remorse,  and 
conscious  that  a  great  sin  demands  a  great  expia- 
tion, he  has  renounced  the  world,  and  precipitat- 
ing himself  into  the  peace  of  the  cloister,  he  has 
assumed  this  penitential  garment,  wrapped  round 
him  by  repentance,  and  only  to  be  replaced  by  the 
winding  sheet." 

"  This  is  a  very  touching  relation,"  said  Leonce, 
"  there  is  no  resisting  it.  Sabina,  you  cannot  re- 
fuse your  pardon  to  such  perfect  contrition.  Ex- 
tend your  hand  to  the  culprit,  'tis  I  who  entreat 
you,  and  release  him  from  his  terrible  vow." 

Sabina,  satisfied  with  the  slightly  hypocritical', 
but  infinitely  respectful  explanation  of  the  mar- 
quis, permitted  him  to  kiss  her  hand,  and  with  a 
forced  smile,  promised  him  forgiveness  of  a  fault 
she  had  already  forgotten.  She  dwelt  on  these  last 
words  in  a  manner  to  make  him  feel  that  she  at- 
tached no  importance  to  the  ridicule  incidental  to 
the  kiss,  and  Teverino,  with  malicious  good-nature, 
silently  admired  the  self-possession  of  a  woman  of 
the  world,  struggling  with  delicate  appearances. 

"  I  am  the  more  proud  of  my  pardon,"  said  he, 
"  since  I  see  that  my  crime  has  only  turned  to  my 
confusion,  and  brought  about  the  triumph  of  true 
love." 

" Now,"  said  Leonce,  "be  so  good  as  to  explain 


JEALOUSY.  291 

to  us,  how  you  have  managed  to  steal  from  the 
vigilance  of  these  good  monks,  this  garment  of  in- 
nocence which  you  wear  so  proudly." 

"  This  garment  belongs  to  me,"  replied  Teverino, 
"  it  is  entirely  new,  it  fits  me,  is  convenient,  and  I 
intend  to  wear  it  while  I  remain  here." 

"  Nonsense,  a  truce  to  jesting.  I  do  not  believe 
that  the  devil  himself  could  tempt  you  to  become 
a  monk."  , 

"  It  is  a  fact!  The  devil,  in  suggesting  to  me 
this  wish,  whispered  in  my  ear,  that  there  would 
be  no  lack  of  opportunity  to  throw  off  the  frock. 
Guess  what  has  happened!  My  fortune  is  not 
brilliant,  and  it  no  longer  corresponds  to  my  title 
of  marquis.  You  might,  without  indiscretion, 
have  confided  this  circumstance  to  Milady.  I  am, 
moreover,  capricious  as  an  artist,  lazy  as  a  monk, 
dreamy  as  a  poet.  I  have  always  had  a  liking  for 
convents,  and  a  taste  for  this  devout  and  effemin- 
ate life,  provided  it  need  not  be  prolonged  beyond 
the  term  assigned  by  my  fancy.  Now  for  the 
opportunity !  Not  more  than  an  hour  since,  while 
I  was  listening  to  the  novices,  as  they  practised 
their  singing  lesson,  I  made  some  judicious  re- 
marks to  the  prior  concerning  the  bad  method  of 
study  they  pursued.  He  informed  me  that  his 
Ringing-master  was  absent  on  a  mission  to  the 


292  JEALOUSY. 

holy  father,  and  would  not  return  from  Home  in 
two  months.  During  his  absence,  the  school  was 
going  to  ruin,  and  the  advantages  of  his  good 
method  were  being  lost.  Thereupon,  I  sang  a 
motet  in  my  best  style,  which  had  the  effect  to 
make  the  good  prior,  a  desperate  melomaniac, 
almost  frantic  with  delight.  '  Ah !  sir,'  said  he, 
i  how  unfortunate  for  me  that  you  are  a  rich  lord  1 
What  a  capital  singing-master  you  would  have 
made  I1  '  Never  mind,'  I  answered,  ' 1  will  give  a 
lesson  to  your  novices  on  the  spot.' 

"  In  less  than  live  minutes,  I  very  gently  and 
modestly  made  them  understand  that  they  had  no 
knowledge  of  the  proper  management  of  the  voice, 
and,  joining  example  to  precept,  I  so  charmed  and 
enraptured  them,  as  to  cause  them  to  exclaim,  in 
emulation  of  the  prior :  1  How  unfortunate  that 
we  cannot  secure  the  services  of  so  good  a  master.' 

"  To  be  brief,  I  was  so  affected  by  their  de- 
monstrations, and  the  life  of  the  musician  monk 
appeared  to  me  in  such  agreeable  colors,  that  I 
consented  to  remain  here  during  the  two  months 
that  must  elapse  before  the  return  of  the  singing- 
master.  My  performance  on  the  organ  gave 
equal  satisfaction,  and  you  now  behold  me  a  monk 
for  the  remainder  of  the  summer ;  that  is  to  say, 
that,  well-fed,  well-lodged,  clad  as  you  now  see 


JEALOUSY.  293 

me  in  the  interior  of  the  cloister, 'choosing  my 
own  special  amusement,  devoting  six  hours  of  the 
day  to  an  occupation  that  pleases  me,  and  the  rest 
of  the  time  to  wandering  among  the  mountains, 
hunting,  fishing,  composing  or  sleeping,  I  am  the 
happiest  of  men,  and  identify  myself  with  my 
patron,  Jean  Kreysler,  who  was  so  contented  with 
his  monastic  asylum,  the  fine  music  and  good 
wine,  as  to  forget  his  loves  and  every  thing  else 
in  this  perishable  world." 

"  Bravo  I"  said  Leonce,  "  I  approve  your  plan, 
and  will  often  come  to  see  you ;  I  doubt,  however, 
if  you  stay  here  two  whole  months,  knowing,  as  I 
do,  that  change  is  your  delight,  and  that  you 
cannot  endure  continued  occupation 

"  That  is  true,  but  when  I  make  an  engagement, 
I  scrupulously  observe  it.  You  must  render  me 
this  justice,  that  I  never  promise  without  condi- 
tions, and  that  I  carry  into  these  conditions  a 
certain  degree  of  foresight.  I  know  in  advance 
that  I  shall  find  it  pleasant  here  for  two  months. 
The  pupils  are  amiable  and  intelligent ;  there  are 
some  fine  voices  among  them,  which  it  will  de- 
light me  to  develop.  And  then,  there  are  some 
old  musical  works  in  the  library,  covered  with  a 
venerable  dust,  which  I  promise  mvself  to  brush 


294:  JEALOUSY. 

off.    It  is  in  such  archives  that  are  found  the 

treasures  of  art,  and  the  fortunes  of  artists." 

"  So  be  it !"  said  Le*once ;  "  but  I  have  still 
several  questions  to  put  to  you,  and  since  here 
come  the  prior  and  the  Cure  to  salute  Milady,  let 
us  retire  to  some  more  secluded  spot,  where  we 
can  converse  without  interruption." 

They  sauntered  into  one  of  the  arcades  of  the 
cloister,  from  which  could  be  seen  a  fine  view  of 
thvj  surrounding  country,  and  there,  taking  the 
a     of  the  adventurer,  Leonce  said  to  him  : 

"  See,  now ;  you  appear  to  wish  to  introduce  a 
little  order  and  industry  into  your  life.  Your 
natural  faculties  are  extraordinary,  and  I  doubt 
not,  that,  with  these  and  the  knowledge  you  have 
rather  divined  than  learned,  you  will  be  successful 
in  gaining  a  reputation,  and  carve  out  for  your- 
self a  brilliant  destiny." 

"I  am  perfectly  well  aware  of  it,"  replied 
Teverino,  "  but  it  does  not  tempt  me." 

"You  have  no  vanity,  then?  You  certainly 
are  worthy  to  be  a  monk  !" 

"  I  have  vanity,  and  I  cannot  submit  to  rules ; 
therefore,  I  shall  not  be  a  monk.  I  will  remain  a 
wanderer  upon  the  earth,  satisfying  my  vanity 
whenever  it  may  please  me,  and  getting  rid  of  it 
when  it  would  make  me  a  slave ;  for  vanity  is  the 


JEALOUSY.  295 

most  despotic  and  iniquitous  of  masters,  and  I  can 
never  be  the  slave  of  my  own  vices." 

"  Can  you  not  be  a  true  artist  without  making 
yourself  the  slave  of  the  public  ?  Come,  listen  to 
me.  The  beginning  is  always  disheartening  to  a 
savage  pride  like  yours.  Your  patrons,  hitherto, 
must  have  been  unjust  or  parsimonious,  since  you 
have  so  great  a  horror  of  placing  yourself  under 
the  protection  of  another.  But  an  enlightened, 
delicate  friendship,  one  that  is  worthy  of  you,  I 
venture  to  say  so,  may  it  not  be  privileged  to 
offer  you  the  means,  wherewith  to  lay  the  found- 
ation of  a  fortuffe  ?  Money  and  the  assistance  of 
masters  are  the  necessary  means.  Accept  my 
offers.  Come  and  seek  me  out  in  Paris,  where  I 
shall  be  two  months  hence  ;  I  answer  for  it,  that 
the  winter  will  not  pass  without  your  finding  a 
position  in  the  world,  suitable  to  your  genius,  and 
agreeable  to  your  taste." 

"  Thanks,  dear  Leance,  thanks,"  said  Teverino, 
squeezing  his  hand.  "  I  know  that  you  speak  in 
the  sincerity  of  your  heart,  but  I  cannot  accept 
the  smallest  service  from  you,  for  the  reason  that 
we  have  come  in  collision  on  burning  ground,  and 
under  delicate  circumstances.  During  the  last 
twenty-four  hours,  I  have  made  myself  a  model 
of  chivalry,  a  mirror  of  loyalty.    But,  although  I 


296 


JEALOUSY. 


am  not  in  love  with  Milady,  the  trial  has  been  so 
severe  and  perilous,  as  to  leave  me  no  wish  to 
recommence  it.  Do  not  understand  this  as  a 
bravado  ;  I  am  certain  that  she  loves  you  ;  I  was 
conscious  of  it  before  you  were.  I  am  happy  that 
it  is  so ;  I  congratulate  myself  on  having  served 
as  the  road  to  a  victory,  which,  believe  me,  I 
desired  for  you  alone.  We  might,  however,  meet 
on  the  edge  of  another  abyss,  and  the  thought 
that  I  was  your  debtor,  that  is  to  say,  the  creature 
of  your  bounty,  would  compel  me  to  forswear 
myself,  or  it  would  deprive  me  of  all  individuality. 
I  should  either  be  a  victim  of  mySirtue  or  guilty 
of  ingratitude.  Then,  before  long,  you  would 
cease  to  interest  yourself  in  providing  for  the 
comfort  of  your  poor  vagabond.  I  should  become 
quickly  disgusted  with  every  thing  suggested  to 
me.  Often,  when  I  met  you,  I  should  repent  of 
having  yielded  to  persuasion  ;  I  should  weary  you, 
in  spite  of  myself,  with  the  inevitable  distaste  to 
my  career ;  and  you  would  wear  yourself  out  in 
trying  to  reclaim  me  from  my  wanderings.  In 
short,  were  you  personally  out  of  the  question, 
there  would  be  no  attraction  to  me  in  tranquil 
glory,  on  in  secured,  notarial  revenues.  In  early 
years,  it  was  my  fortune  to  look  at  the  various 
scenes  of  life  from  behind  the  curtain.    I  might 


JEALOUSY.  297 
have  been  an  actor  on  the  different  theatres ;  but 
at  the  door  of  all,  stands  an  army  of  critics,  rivals 
and  claqueurs,  ready  to  take  every  advantage  of  a 
man,  and  these,  I  should  never  be  able  to  deceive, 
manage,  flatter  or  pay.  God  has  made  me  the 
enemy  of  all  serious  lies  and  deliberate  hypocrisy ; 
I  cannot  paint  my  face,  except  for  amusement, 
and  were  I  to  undertake  it,  my  intense  frankness 
would  soon  gain  the  ascendancy ;  I  should  need  to 
wipe  off  the  paint  and  feel  myself  a  man  able  to 
extend  a  hand  to  the  weak  and  to  box  the  ears  of 
insolence.  There  are  no  possible  illusions  for  me; 
before  1  began  the  world  for  myself,  I  knew  the 
last  word  of  those  who  had  grown  old  in  the 
combat.  Oh  !  long  live  my  holy  liberty  !  Blush 
not  for  me,  wise  and  noble  Leonce !  Your  path 
is  marked  out  for  you,  and  you  will  pursue  it  with 
dignity.  I  can  only  follow  the  broken  line  and 
the  quick  jerk  of  the  wing,  like  my  little  Made- 
leine." 

"And  apropos  of  Madeleine?  It  is  especially 
with  regard  to  her,  that  I  look  upon  your  philoso- 
phy as  dangerous,  and-  your  guilt  beyond  a  ques- 
tion. Yesterday,  you  slept  in  her  cabin ;  to-day, 
you  shelter  yourself  under  the  roof  of  a  convent ; 
to-morrow,  you  will  be  wandering  through  the 


298  JEALOUSY. 

paved  city ;  and  this  child's  heart  will  soon  be  bro- 
ken, if  it  is  not  already." 

"  Stay,"  said  the  vagabond,  arresting  Leonce 
before  an  arcade,  "  look  at  the  torrent  rolling  be- 
low there  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  Let  your 
eyes  rest  on  the  point  where  a  rustic  bridge  unites 
the  path  leading  from  the  convent  to  the  one  as- 
cending the  brow  of  the  mountain." 

"  I  see  it,  what  then  ?" 

"  Do  you  see  a  small  patch  of  prairie,  green  as 
an  emerald,  about  mid-way  up  among  those  gray 
rocks  ?  and  the  foot-path  along  the  edge  beyond  V 

"  I  see  the  prairie,  and  then  ?" 

"  Then  there  is  a  clump  of  trees,  and  the  path 
becomes  invisible." 

"  Yes ;  what  more  ?" 

"  Beyond  the  spruce  trees,  beyond  the  path, 
there  is  a  sort  of  valley  covered  with  heath,  and 
then  the  naked  peak  of  the  mountain." 

"  And  then  the  sky,"  said  Leonce,  impatiently. 
"What  far-fetched  metaphor  are  you  preparing?" 

"  None.  You  have  not  observed  closely.  Be- 
tween the  peak  of  the  mountain  and  the  sky  there 
is  a  sort  of  barrack  built  of  spruce  boards,  fastened 
to  stakes  and  kept  in  their  places  by  large  stones. 
Are  you  far-sighted  ?" 


JEALOUSY.  299 

"  I  see  the  hovel  very  distinctly.  I  see  even 
some  birds  flying  in  the  air  above  it." 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  see  the  birds,  yon  know 
whose  hovel  it  is,  and  why  I  am  so  well  satisfied 
to  establish  myself  here,  only  half  an  hour's  dis- 
tance by  the  road ;  and  who  has  such  good  limbs 
as  Madeleine  and  your  humble  servant?" 

"  That  then  is  the  residence  of  the  bird-tamer  ?" 

"  Look  now,  and  you  will  see  a  small  scarlet 
mantle,  a  red  point  floating  in  the  sun,  and  moving 
round  this  miserable  hovel.  That  is  Madeleine, 
my  little  angel,  my  heart's  child,  my  soul,  my  life. 
I  can  no  longer  profit  by  the  hospitality  which  this 
girl  and  her  heroic,  bandit  brother  offered  me  one 
day,  when  breathless,  dusty,  overwhelmed  with 
fatigue,  at  the  end  of  my  last  farthing,  but  with- 
out care,  nay,  joyful  to  greet  the  horizon  of  France, 
I  paused  at  their  door  to  beg  a  little  goat's  milk 
wherewith  to  quench  my  thirst.  They  were  pleased 
with  me,  they  trusted  me  and  gave  me  a  home. 
I  loved  them,  and  had  not  resolution  to  quit  them, 
although  conscience  made  it  a  duty  not  to  add  my 
misery  to  theirs.  But,  although  I  have  kept  my- 
self carefully  in  seclusion,  so  that  no  one  has  been 
able  to  approach  me  near  enough  to  see  my  face, 
the  figure  of  a  vagabond  attached  to  the  steps  of 
Madeleine,  has  been  distinguished  from  a  distance ; 


300 


JEALOUSY. 


and  Madeleine,  already  compromised  in  the  opinion 
of  the  Cure,  would  soon  be  compelled  to  drive  me 
away,  or  fly  with  me.  This  is  something  for  which 
I  am  not  yet  prepared,  and  therefore,  when  I  met 
you  on  the  border  of  the  lake,  I  was  on  my  way 
to  offer  my  services  to  the  monks  of  this  convent, 
in  order  that  I  might  find  shelter  with  them  in  the 
neighborhood  of  my  brave  friends  of  the  mountain. 
It  is  my  reason  also  for  bringing  you  to  this  place 
to-day,  that  I  may  take  leave  of  you  and  restore  to 
you  your  fine  clothes,  without  being  under  the  ne- 
cessity of  returning  to  the  nakedness  in  which  you 
found  me." 

"  You  will  keep  them,  so  that  you  may  be  able 
to  leave  this  at  your  pleasure,"  said  Le'once,  "  also 
the  gold  in  your  waistcoat  pocket.  You  certainly 
cannot  refuse  the  means  of  mitigating  in  some  de- 
gree, the  misery  of  Madeleine  and  her  brother." 

"  There  was  gold,  then,  in  my  pockets  ?"  said 
Teverino,  with  indifference.  "  I  had  not  observed 
it.  Well,  if  you  will  not  take  it  back,  I  must  put 
it  in  the  poor  box,  and  Madeleine  shall  have  her 
part.  I  understand  none  of  the  duties  of  a  trea- 
surer, and  it  shall  not  be  said  that  any  other  mo- 
tive than  my  own  pleasure  induced  me  to  assume 
the  character  of  a  marquis.  Milady  has  munifi- 
cently recompensed  the  child  for  the  amusement 


JEALOUSY. 


301 


she  afforded  her ;  Madeleine  is  then  rich  at  this 
moment,  and  as  for  me,  I  shall  have  gained  enough 
in  two  months,  to  supply  my  wants  for  a  long  time 
to  come." 

u  But  at  the  end  of  two  months  where  will  you 
go  ?  what  will  you  do  with  Madeleine  ?" 

"  We  love  each  other  so  much,  that  if  she  were 
not  too  young,  I  would  make  her  my  wife.  But  I 
must  wait  at  least  two  years,  and  if  I  should  have 
the  misfortune  to  become  too  much  enamoured 
before  the  expiration  of  that  term,  she  would  be 
in  great  danger.  It  will,  therefore,  be  necessary 
for  me  to  leave  her,  even  before  two  months  have 
passed  away,  if  my  paternal  affection  should 
change  its  nature." 

"  Astonishing  young  man,"  exclaimed  Leonce ; 
"  is  it  possible,  such  ardor  and  such  calmness, 
such  weakness  and  such  virtue,  so  much  expe- 
rience with  so  much  simplicity ;  a  life  at  the  same 
time  so  tempestuous  and  so  pure,  so  unrestrained 
and  so  valiantly  defended  against  its  passions !" 

"  Do  not  think  me  better  than  I  am,"  replied 
Teverino.  "  I  have  done  wrong  in  my  impetuous 
youth,  and  there  are  errors  lying  heavy  at  my 
heart,  for  which  I  can  never  pardon  myself.  But 
this  heart  has  not  been  utterly  perverted,  and  it 
has  been  purified  by  remorse.    1  have  been  the 


302  JEALOUSY. 

cause  of  suffering  to  others,  and  what  I  myself 
have  suffered  in  consequence,  is  beyond  what  I 
can  express  to  you.  I  love  dearly  to  look  upon 
happiness,  and  the  sight  of  misfortune  caused  by 
me  has  almost  rendered  me  crazy.  Henceforth, 
I  would  prefer  death  rather  than  defile  the  objects 
of  my  affection,  and  never  again  will  I  seek 
pleasure  of  any  woman  who  possesses  the  treasure 
of  innocence." 

"  But  you  will  forget  this  unfortunate  little 
creature,  and  when  you  forsake  her,  her  heart  will 
not  be  the  less  torn  by  grief." 

"  If  I  forget  her,  then  I  do  not  know  myself," 
said  Teverino,  earnestly.  "  I  do  not  believe  it,  sir, 
I  cannot  believe  it ;  and  if  I  did  believe  it,  I 
should  not  love,  I  should  not  be  myself.  It  is 
true  that  I  have  broken  more  than  one  tie,  taken 
back  more  than  one  promise;  but  I  do  not  re- 
member of  ever  having  been  the  first  to  change, 
for  by  nature  and  by  necessity  my  soul  is  constant. 
If  I  had  not  been  drawn  into  those  facile  ad- 
ventures, which  no  one  is  scrupulous  in  getting 
rid  of,  I  should  have  had  but  one  passion  during 
my  life.  I  have  been  a  libertine,  although  God 
created  me  chaste.  Now,  that  I  find  myself  in 
relation  with  a  chaste  soul,  I  feel  that  my  ideal  is 
there,  and  no  where  else.    Let  us,  then,  leave 


JEALOUSY.  303 

time  to  take  its  course,  and  my  life  to  unfold 
itself  before  me.  I  may  not  become  a  prophet 
or  a  divinity,  but  I  know  that  it  is  not  impossible 
for  me  to  become  the  husband  of  Madeleine,  if  I 
shall  find  her  faithful  when  the  time  comes." 
"  And  if  she  is  not?" 

"  I  will  forgive  her  and  remain  her  friend ;  yes, 
her  friend,  such  as  you  cannot  be  to  Lady  Sabina, 
you,  who  love  differently,  and  mingle  pride  with 
your  love." 

"  We  are  then  to  separate,  without  your  per- 
mitting me  to  give  yori  any  proof  of  the  truly 
irresistible  esteem  and  friendship  with  which  you 
inspire  me  ?" 

"  We  shall  meet  again,  doubt  it  not.  If,  at 
that  moment,  I  should  have  plenty  of  work,  and 
be  able  to  present  a  good  appearance,  I  shall  meet 
you  with  open  arms ;  but  if  I  am  as  badly  clothed 
as  yesterday,  when  I  encountered  you  on  the 
margin  of  the  lake,  be  not  astonished  if  I  do  not 
seem  to  recognize  you." 

"  Ah !  how  you  grieve  me !"  said  Le*once  with 
emotion.  "  You  are  determined,  then,  not  to 
believe  in  me !" 

"  I  do  believe  in  you,  but  I  am  too  familiar 
with  stern  reality  to  willingly  relinquish  the  idea 


304  JEALOUSY. 

of  making  my  life  a  romance,  more  or  less  agree- 
able and  varied." 

The  Cure  consented  to  accompany  Sabina  and 
Leonce  as  far  as  the  villa,  in  order  to  allay  all 

suspicions  on  the  part  of  lord  G-  .    My  lord 

had  awoke  the  evening  of  the  previous  day,  and 
was  not  a  little  uncomfortable  at  the  absence  of 
his  wife ;  he  resorted,  however,  as  usual,  to  the 
wine-cup,  in  which  to  drown  his  anxiety,  and  was 
again  asleep  when  she  returned. 


THE  END. 


